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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25336252">time's slipping away (and what will it hold for me?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansgotalimit/pseuds/mansgotalimit'>mansgotalimit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Real Person Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Reunions, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:22:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25336252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansgotalimit/pseuds/mansgotalimit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens on a Wednesday afternoon. </p><p>Noel’s sat in his office, ostensibly reading through some emails but not taking in a single word on his screen, when there’s a sudden crash behind him. He whips around, ready to shout at Donovan for coming into his office without permission, but instead of a whining twelve-year-old, he comes face to face with- </p><p>Liam. </p><p>But it’s not just Liam. It’s not the Liam he sees in the news now, weathered skin and salt-and-pepper beard, crow’s feet framing his still-brilliant blue eyes. It’s Liam as Noel remembers him - smooth, supple skin, full lips parted in shock, brow furrowed over his long, dark lashes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Liam Gallagher &amp; Noel Gallagher, Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26100331">time's slipping away (and what will it hold for me?)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansgotalimit/pseuds/mansgotalimit">mansgotalimit</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/REILAVE_H_C/pseuds/REILAVE_H_C">REILAVE_H_C</a>
        </li>


    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It happens on a Wednesday afternoon. </p><p>Noel’s sat in his office, ostensibly reading through some emails but not taking in a single word on his screen, when there’s a sudden crash behind him. He whips around, ready to shout at Donovan for coming into his office without permission, but instead of a whining twelve-year-old, he comes face to face with- </p><p>Liam. </p><p>But it’s not just Liam. It’s not the Liam he sees in the news now, weathered skin and salt-and-pepper beard, crow’s feet framing his still-brilliant blue eyes. It’s Liam as Noel remembers him - smooth, supple skin, full lips parted in shock, brow furrowed over his long, dark lashes. </p><p>“What the fuck?” Noel says, more to himself than anything, as he scrambles to his feet, heart beating wildly. He’s not even fucking high, or drunk for that matter, so why the fuck is he hallucinating? </p><p>“What the <em> fuck? </em> ” Liam says, and he sounds angry, like it’s <em> Noel’s </em>fault that he’s hallucinating what looks like a twenty-two year old Liam standing in his office in 2020. At least the Liam in his hallucination is realistic, he thinks. </p><p>“What the fuck?” Noel says again, thinking maybe he’s just been reading boring emails for too long, and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again a few seconds later, Liam’s still there, looking incensed, arms folded. </p><p>“Where the fuck am I?” Liam demands. “What the fuck is this? Is this some kind of joke? Like, what, <em> oh, let’s pretend Noel’s aged forty fucking years </em>, ha fucking ha. ‘Ere, how the fuck did you get them wrinkles?” Noel stares at him. What the fuck? </p><p>“What the-” Noel cuts himself off, and blinks at Liam. “You’re not here.” </p><p>“Fuck off, Noel,” Liam says, sounding annoyed. He takes a step in Noel’s direction, and Noel inadvertently takes a step back, making Liam stop and frown. </p><p>“What?” he says irritably, like Noel’s being a fucking nuisance and Liam doesn’t have the time for it. </p><p>“You-” Noel doesn’t even know where to fucking <em> begin. </em> Liam just rolls his eyes, never one to be particularly patient, and strides over to Noel, a challenge written all over his face. Noel, barely thinking about it, reaches out and pinches Liam’s arm through his shirt, hard enough to make him squeal. </p><p>“<em> Ow, </em> you dick,” Liam says, flinching away and rubbing the spot Noel had just pinched, warm and flesh and real under Noel’s fingers. “What the fuck was that for?” </p><p>“You’re warm,” Noel says, almost unthinkingly, mind too busy running in circles. Liam can’t be here. He <em> especially </em> can’t be here looking like he’s just dropped out of nineteen-ninety-fucking-five. That’s just not fucking possible. There’s absolutely <em> no </em> fucking way that a scowling twenty-something Liam Gallagher is standing in Noel’s office in 2020.</p><p>But Noel’s had hallucinations before, drug-and-drink-induced, even lack-of-sleep-induced, and they never feel warm to the touch. They never look like his fucking little brother, either, and they’re never that sharp around the edges, never that opaque, never smell like fucking stale beer and sweat and an undertone of something Noel’s never quite managed to place besides <em> Liam </em> and <em> want </em>. So what the fuck is going on here? </p><p>“Fuck off,” Liam scoffs, and reaches for Noel’s face to retaliate. Noel bats his hand away automatically, and flinches when the back of his hand makes contact with Liam’s, warm and soft and God, <em> again </em> , so fucking <em> real. </em> Fucking hell. Jesus fucking Christ. This <em> cannot </em> be happening. </p><p>“Fuck me,” Noel says, a little faintly. “How old are you?”</p><p>“You’re my fucking brother,” Liam says, sounding outraged that Noel doesn’t know, like the bastard doesn’t forget his own birthday every single year. </p><p>“How fucking old are you, Liam?” The name is foreign on Noel’s tongue, sounds robotic when he forces it out. </p><p>“Twenty-two, you cunt,” Liam grumbles, and rubs at the spot on his arm Noel had pinched again, almost absent-mindedly. </p><p>“<em> Shit </em>,” Noel says, and it comes out weak and a little shaky. Twenty-two. That’s, what, ninety-four, ninety-five? A quarter of a century ago. Fucking hell. </p><p>“What?” Liam says grumpily.  </p><p>“Liam,” Noel says, slowly, still not entirely convinced he’s not dreaming. “It’s 2020.” There’s a moment of tense silence, and Liam blinks at him, like he’s deciding whether to humour Noel or not.</p><p>“Right,” he says after a pause, disbelieving. “Yeah, and I’m fucking Eric Cantona. Give over.” </p><p>“I’m not fucking joking,” Noel says. “It’s 2020. I’m fifty-fucking-three.” </p><p>“You’ve been fucking fifty-three since the day you were born,” Liam says blithely. </p><p>“Can you be serious for one fucking minute?” Noel snaps, trying to quell the panic rising in his chest. Liam isn’t here. He just fucking isn’t. He <em> can’t </em> be. </p><p>“Can you?” Liam counters, eyes flitting around the room. “Where the fuck have you taken me, anyway, eh?” </p><p>“It’s my house,” Noel says, and Liam grins, raises his eyebrows, and whistles lowly. </p><p>“Yeah, you fucking wish,” he says, and strides over to the window, peering out into the garden. “What’s this, London? Looks fucking southern to me.” </p><p>“Liam,” Noel says, like saying his name is either going to make him disappear or make Noel process what the fuck is going on. “How the fuck did you get here?” Liam looks at him over his shoulder. </p><p>“How the fuck am I meant to know?” he says. </p><p>“What were you doing?” </p><p>“Eh?” </p><p>“Before you got here.” </p><p>“Sleeping.” Liam turns back to the window, seemingly unbothered by the conversation. “Who’s that?” He jabs a finger at the window, and Noel leans a little to the side, looking past Liam’s shoulder to see Sonny running around the garden. </p><p>Shit. Liam - the real Liam - has never even <em> met </em> Sonny. Is that what this is, some kind of cosmic joke from whatever fucking deity Noel’s just discovered might exist, punishing him for not falling for any of Liam’s ever-more desperate bait in the past decade? Or is it some kind of sign from his subconscious, hallucinating the prettiest Liam it could possibly muster to make him break? </p><p>“My son,” Noel says, when he finally remembers Liam had asked him a question, mouth dry. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Liam says, without even turning back to look at him. “Why’s there a kid in the garden?” </p><p>“He’s my fucking son,” Noel says, a little sharply. Liam stiffens, but still doesn’t turn around. </p><p>“You don’t have a fucking son,” he says, and it’s a little colder, a little harsher. </p><p>“I have two.” Liam finally whips around to look at him, something that Noel can’t quite place in his eyes - confusion, anger, indignance, sadness, all mingled together with something else that looks a lot like jealousy. </p><p>“No you fucking don’t,” he says flatly. “Stop it, Noel, it’s not funny. Let’s just fucking go home. You can tell ‘em all you got me, I don’t give a fuck.” </p><p>“I’m not fucking-” Noel cuts himself off, breathing heavily, and puts out a hand to steady himself against his desk. Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck is going on? “Fucking hell, Liam. You’re not fucking real.” He’s half-willing the words to make Liam break, disappear in a puff of smoke or something, but Liam just frowns at him. </p><p>“Why d’you keep saying that?” he says, half-bemused, half-annoyed. “How much have you snorted, eh?”</p><p>“I’m not fucking high,” Noel says. He wishes he was; at least then there’d be an explanation, something about this that would make sense. “You’re just- you can’t be here.” Liam looks down at himself, spreads his arms, and shrugs. </p><p>“Looks like I can,” he says, and then he frowns, and points at something behind Noel. “What the fuck is that?” Noel turns around to see his MacBook, still open on his emails. </p><p>“My laptop,” he says, and Liam’s brow furrows further. </p><p>“Where the fuck’d you get that, then? Fucking James Bond?” His tone is aiming for casual, derisive, but Noel can hear the undertone of uncertainty. </p><p>“It’s just a normal laptop,” Noel says. “In 2020,” he adds, and Liam hesitates for a split second, just the briefest of pauses before rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, but Noel catches it. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Liam scoffs, and in two strides he’s closed the gap between himself and Noel and is peering at the laptop, half in intrigue, half in trepidation. “Fucking hell, this is fancy. How the fuck is it so thin?” Noel’s about to answer - with what he doesn’t know; does he look like a fucking engineer? - when Liam hums in interest, and picks Noel’s phone up. </p><p>“What the fuck is this?” he says, turning it this way and that in his hands, like he’s trying to figure out how to work it.</p><p>“My phone,” Noel says. </p><p>“D’you think I’m fucking stupid?” Liam says, pressing the volume buttons. “What is it? What’s it do?” Noel pulls the phone out of Liam’s hands, and presses the home button. The screen lights up, and Noel types in his passcode, and turns the phone to Liam, who’s staring at it, lips parted slightly. </p><p>“Here,” he snaps, and opens the app for calling. “It’s a phone.” </p><p>“No it fucking isn’t,” Liam says, sounding strangely strangled. Noel raises an eyebrow, pushes the phone closer to Liam’s face, and Liam hesitates before pulling it out of Noel’s hands, holding it carefully in his thick fingers. He taps at the screen experimentally, pressing first a zero, and then a one, and then frowns as he taps faster, six one five nine four- </p><p>Noel’s old Manchester phone number. </p><p>Noel has to swallow back a bitter taste in his mouth and a lump in his throat at that, at the fact that the one person Liam wants to call in this fucking situation is Noel. If this had happened with present-day Liam the first number he would dial would probably be the police. </p><p>“Didn’t know you knew my number,” Noel says. Liam looks up at him, eyes wide, a little disarmed, like he hadn’t been expecting Noel to recognise it. </p><p>“‘Course I fucking do,” he mutters, and Noel can see from the way he averts his gaze back to the phone that he’s embarrassed. </p><p>“It’s not going to work,” he tells Liam, and hopes it comes across as kind and not patronising. “Haven’t lived in Manchester in decades.” Liam’s finger hovers over the call button. </p><p>“Can’t hurt, then,” he says, under his breath, and presses call. </p><p>In the silence of the room, Noel hears the number ring - once, twice, three times - and then there’s a click, and someone picks up. </p><p><em> “Hello?” </em> they say, muffled and tinny over the phone line. There’s a brief moment of silence, just a split second as Liam’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly as realisation dawns across his face - <em> this is a phone, fucking hell </em> - and then he pulls himself together. Noel watches the whole process, the shock to forced concentration, and it tugs at his heart. Liam’s so <em> young, </em> so inexperienced, so <em> Liam. </em> </p><p>“Is Noel there?” Liam says. There’s a beat. </p><p><em> “Noel?” </em> the person asks. <em> “Noel who?” </em></p><p>“Gallagher.” </p><p>
  <em> “Are you taking the fucking piss?”  </em>
</p><p>“Is he fucking there or not?” </p><p><em> “Fuck off, mate.” </em> There’s another click, and then the call’s ended. Liam wrenches the phone away from his ear and stares at it, then at Noel. </p><p>“It’s not 2020,” he says, but his voice wavers a little. “I’m not in fucking 2020. What, I fucking time travelled? Fuck off. That’s not- that-” he stops, seeming to struggle with the words. “No,” he says, after a moment, like he’s trying to convince himself, grasping for an explanation. Noel can fucking relate to that. “I’m just high. Really fucking high.” Well. He might be, but Noel isn’t, so that doesn’t explain fucking anything. </p><p>“It’s 2020, Liam,” Noel says, but it’s a little softer, because this is his little brother - his <em> little </em> fucking brother, twenty-two, Jesus - and <em> Noel’s </em> struggling to come to terms with whatever the fuck is happening, so he can’t even imagine how it must be for Liam, ripped out of wherever the fuck he’d fallen asleep and waking up twenty-five years in the future. </p><p>“Fucking isn’t,” Liam says, and Noel can hear the anger swelling in his tone, the only way Liam’s ever known how to deal with anything he can’t understand. “It’s not- it can’t be. Just- just fucking give over, Noel. Let’s go home.” Noel swallows down the biting remark on the tip of his tongue, because if he rises to Liam’s bait it’s going to end in a fistfight, and he’s got to be the adult here, he’s got to look out for Liam like he’s always fucking had to. He takes a deep breath, and turns to Liam.</p><p>“Right,” he says. “This is what we’re going to do.” Liam opens his mouth indignantly, ready to argue, always has something to say when Noel tries to boss him about because he hates the fact that they both know he’ll do whatever Noel says, but Noel shoots him a look, and he closes his mouth again. “You’re going to stay here, and go back to sleep, and see if-” he cuts himself off. See if what? If Liam wakes up back in the fucking ‘90s? “See if you wake up normal,” he settles on eventually. “And I’m going to go outside, bang my fucking head against a wall, and see if that helps.” </p><p>“I’m not tired,” Liam says stubbornly, folding his arms.</p><p>“I don’t fucking care,” Noel says. “I’ll knock you out myself if I have to.” Liam pouts, and Noel tries not to let his eyes get drawn to his lips, full and pink and God, Noel’s going to fucking hell, he really fucking is. </p><p>“Fuck you,” Liam says, but it’s petulant rather than angry, and he stomps over to the sofa in the corner of the office and throws himself down on it. Noel doesn’t move, just watches him go, and Liam turns his head to look back at Noel. “Happy?” he says stroppily, and Noel feels the ghost of a smile on his lips, immediately followed by his stomach churning, because fucking hell, this isn’t <em> real. </em></p><p>“I’ll be happy when you’re fucking unconscious,” Noel tells him. Liam rolls his eyes, flips Noel off, and then turns onto his other side with a dissatisfied <em> hmph, </em>and Noel watches his eyes flutter shut. </p><p>It makes his heart twist in on itself, suddenly, when Liam’s face relaxes from the slight tension he’s been holding in his brow, lips parting slightly, eyelashes casting dark shadows on his cheekbones, because he looks so fucking <em> beautiful. </em> Noel had both hated and loved it back then, hated that he was just a fucking shard of glass next to this brilliant, shining diamond, hated that nobody gave him a second glance when Liam was around, but loved that Liam never cared about any of the attention as long as he had Noel’s, and loved that Liam was <em> his. </em> It’d make him giddy, sometimes, when they’d be playing onstage in front of hundreds of thousands of people, and Liam would be positioned at a forty-five degree angle, unable to stray any further from Noel, like north drawn to Noel’s south. It’d make him feel invincible, drunk on power and influence and love, because Liam needed Noel more than he needed cigarettes or alcohol or drugs or water or air. </p><p>But now, when he hasn’t seen this face since half his lifetime ago, it just hurts. It just reminds Noel painfully of how much Liam had needed him, how much he’d trusted him, and what Noel had done to him. It reminds him of the vicious fights they’d had, the barbed words and stinging comments that slashed so deep that Noel was still nursing the wounds decades later. It reminds him that he doesn’t, and can’t ever, have Liam like he did when he looked like this again. </p><p>Liam opens an eye, and looks over his shoulder at Noel. </p><p>“Creepy bastard,” he says.  </p><p>“Cunt,” Noel says automatically, because even if it’s a twenty-two year old Liam, it’s still Liam. Liam gives him a two-fingered salute and then folds his arms against his chest, curls his legs in on himself, and he looks so fucking young that Noel just wants to press a soft kiss to his temple, and murmur something too metaphorical for either of them to understand that’ll make both their hearts slow down with calmness all the same. He doesn’t, though, because he’s not sure what his fucking place is with this Liam, just checks to make sure Liam’s actually got his eyes shut and then heads out of the office, shutting and locking the door with a click behind him. </p><p>Fucking hell, he thinks, resting his forehead against the door. He needs a fucking drink. </p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Noel does, in fact, bang his head against a wall, after downing a glass of whiskey in the kitchen. It fucking hurts, and he only realises retroactively that it might have been a better idea to hit the side of his head, where a bruise or lump could be easily hidden. Whatever, he thinks, as he pours himself another glass, and pretends not to notice the way his fingers are trembling slightly. Not exactly the first time Noel’s got an injury because of Liam, is it? </p><p>He stays in the kitchen for far too long, staring at the wall and running his finger along the rim of his whiskey tumbler as thoughts race through his mind at the speed of fucking light. What if Liam’s still there when Noel gets back? What the fuck is he supposed to do? Should he tell Sara? Twenty-two-year-old Liam wouldn’t be able to go outside, would he, because he’s one of the most recognisable faces in Britain, but if Noel knows anything about Liam, he’ll go fucking insane stuck inside all day. And how would he get back? He can’t stay here indefinitely, can he? Noel can’t fucking play Mr Rochester, with Liam as Bertha and Sara as Jane. </p><p>But the other option - that Liam’s not there, and Noel <em> had </em> been hallucinating - isn’t that much better either, he thinks. He doesn’t need a fucking medical degree to know that having such vivid hallucinations of his little brother from twenty-five years ago isn’t a good sign for his mental wellbeing, and he really doesn’t have time for that, not between the album cycle and trying to raise his fucking kids. And, he thinks, raising the glass to his mouth to get the dregs of whiskey, regardless of whether or not it was a hallucination, the most concerning sign for his mental health is that he’s not entirely sure whether he wants Liam to be gone when he gets back or not. </p><p>Eventually, when he notices the sunlight bathing the kitchen wall turn from a brilliant shine to a softer glow, he sets the glass down, steels himself, and heads back to the office. </p><p>There’s no sound as he approaches the office, and Noel finds himself hyperaware of everything, of his fucking breathing and blinking and fumbling fingers, missing the hole as he tries to push the key into the lock. Eventually, though, he gets the key in, turns it and hears the door unlocking, and inhales deeply as he pushes the door open with sweat-slick hands to find- </p><p>Liam. </p><p>He’s still there, curled up on the sofa, breathing deep and even. </p><p>Shit. </p><p><em> Shit. </em> </p><p>Noel squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in deeply, exhales heavily, and opens them again. </p><p>Liam’s still there. </p><p>Almost as though he knows he’s being watched, Liam stirs, rubs his eyes, and rolls over, blinking blearily at Noel. Noel watches the confusion, realisation, shock and fear all cross his face in a matter of seconds, and can’t do anything but blink back at him, knowing similar emotions are flashing across his own face. </p><p>“You’re still here,” Liam says stupidly. </p><p>“Did you sleep?” Noel asks, a desperate hope that maybe that’s the reason he’s still here, even though he knows the answer. Liam hesitates, clearly seeing the look on Noel’s face, and then nods, and Noel’s stomach sinks. “Fuck.” </p><p>“What the fuck do we do?” Liam says, pulling himself into a seated position, and hugging his knees to his chest. He looks so disarmed like this, clothes rumpled, still soft and sleepy around the edges, and Noel’s heart does a strange acrobatic move that he hasn’t felt in - well. Ten fucking years. </p><p>“I don’t fucking know,” Noel says, hating it, because Liam’s always looked to him for answers, and Noel’s always provided them, always been the dependable older brother that Liam can rely on. Liam rests his chin on his knees, looking somewhere between contemplative and unhappy. </p><p>“What the fuck’s the band going to do without me?” he says, staring at the wall. “‘S not like any of the rest of you can sing.” </p><p>“I can sing, you cunt,” Noel says irritably, because this is the <em> last </em>fucking thing they should be worrying about. Liam waves a hand dismissively. </p><p>“Not like me, you can’t,” he says.</p><p>“You’re unbelievable,” is all Noel says, shaking his head and sinking down into his chair. </p><p>“I’m hungry,” Liam says, resting his chin on his knees. A disparaging comment is on the tip of Noel’s tongue - <em> are you fucking serious, </em> maybe, or <em> can you get your fucking priorities in order for once </em> - but then he glances at his watch and sees it’s already gone seven, and the kid’s probably not eaten since last night, if he’d only woken up when he’d arrived in Noel’s office. How the fuck is Noel meant to get him food, though? He can’t exactly trot Liam out at dinner, plonk him down between Sara and himself and ladle a serving of stew onto his plate. </p><p>“I can get you a takeaway,” Noel says eventually, pulling his phone out. Liam frowns at it, like he doesn’t trust it. “What d’you fancy?” </p><p>“What d’you mean?” </p><p>“Well, y’know, Chinese, Indian, Thai, Italian, a burger, fish and chips-” </p><p>“A burger.” Noel nods as he pulls up his Deliveroo app and picks out the first burger place he finds. </p><p>“C’mere,” he says, and Liam hesitates, like he doesn’t want to get too close to this new, foreign Noel. It shouldn’t hurt, especially not after the last eleven years, but it does. “C’mon,” Noel tries again, trying to soften his tone a little. “You’ve got to tell me what you want.” </p><p>“I just want a fucking burger,” Liam says, but he gets up and pads over to Noel, peering over his shoulder. He smells so fucking intoxicating, so much like the nineties and like stolen kisses in dark alleyways and like quick, desperate fucks in hotel rooms, and it makes Noel’s stomach flip in a way that he can’t quite identify as either pleasant or unpleasant. </p><p>“This is the menu,” Noel says, hoping the thickness of his voice is only audible to him, and holds the phone up to Liam’s face. Liam bends down and squints at it, like he needs fucking reading glasses or something, and then presses on the screen. </p><p>“Is that it?” he says, sounding singularly unimpressed. “This place has only got six things on the menu.” Noel realises, with a jolt, that Liam doesn’t know how to scroll.</p><p>“You’ve got to scroll,” Noel says, demonstrating by scrolling a little further down and then back up. Liam frowns, and tries to scroll, a little clumsily. Noel holds the phone as still as possible, pushing back against the force with which Liam’s pressing on the screen. It feels sort of fitting. </p><p>“The American with chips,” Liam says, straightening up again. Noel nods, and adds it to the basket. Liam watches him do it, and frowns again. “Aren’t you going to call them?” </p><p>“No,” Noel says. “It’s all online.” Liam’s frown doesn’t let up, but he doesn’t say anything else. </p><p>As Noel’s confirming his card details, Liam still watching with a furrowed brow, there’s a knock at the door. Both of them jump, eyes finding each other immediately, and Noel watches the shock and fear cross Liam’s face as they both think <em> shit, shit, shit, how the fuck do we explain this? </em> </p><p>“Dinner!” the person outside the door calls - Anais - and then there are footsteps leading away, heading down the corridor and down the stairs. Noel exhales shakily, and watches Liam do the same, chest rising and falling a little more rapidly than it had been before. Thank God Noel’s spent the last three years insisting his office is his private space, his one space to himself in the house, yes he knows he has that shed in the garden but that’s not in the <em> house, </em> is it, Sara. </p><p>“Okay,” Noel says, finishing off the order and seeing that it’s going to take half an hour to arrive. That’s not too bad; he can be done with tea in half an hour. “I’m- I’m going to go and have tea, and you’re going to wait here. The food’ll be here in half an hour, and I’ll be back.” </p><p>“Why can’t I eat with you?” Liam asks. </p><p>“Are you fucking insane?” Noel hisses. “What the fuck would I tell my wife, my kids?” Liam shrugs, and there’s a hard edge to his eyes. </p><p>“Not my fucking problem,” he says, even though it definitely is. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Noel says, because it’s all he can say, and pushes his chair back. He stands up, glares up at Liam, and adds: “Don’t make any noise.” Liam’s eyes glimmer for a moment, like he’s considering whether the consequences of disobeying Noel will outweigh the fun of doing it, before he takes a step back, letting Noel pass. </p><p>“Or what?” Liam asks, as Noel’s halfway to the door. </p><p>“I’ll fucking kill you.” Liam just grins, eyes still shimmering. </p><p>“What’re you going to do, bite my fucking kneecaps?” he says. There’s a slight challenge in his voice, something mocking and taunting, and Noel knows what this is. He’s looking for a rise out of Noel, wants to goad him into something he knows it takes Liam prodding and poking for Noel to give in to. </p><p>But it works, Noel thinks, as he hesitates. It’s always worked. It’s the one thing that’ll get Liam to shut up, to be pliant; at least, the one thing that Noel has time to do. </p><p>“Just be a good boy for me, kid,” Noel says, a little too softly, a little too hesitantly, none of the sureness and confidence with which he used to say it twenty-five years ago in his voice. </p><p>(He can tell from the way Liam swallows that it still works.)</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Tea is a fucking ordeal.</p><p>Anais is in a mood, Donovan and Sonny are fighting, Sara wants his opinion on the new carpet samples she’s picked out, and Noel has to grip his knife and fork so hard he thinks they might bend out of shape to stop himself from screaming at any and all of them. </p><p>The doorbell rings as Anais is halfway through arguing with Donovan about whether or not he’d used her toothbrush this morning, because it was <em> definitely </em> wet, and Noel shoots to his feet, hitting the table with his thigh painfully as he stands up. </p><p>“I’ll get it,” he says, as Sara shoots him a weird look, but then Donovan threatens to throw some of his mashed potato at Anais and her attention is drawn elsewhere. </p><p>The delivery driver seems a little star-struck when Noel opens the door, but Noel doesn’t have any fucking time for that, just takes the food and throws him a smile and hurries upstairs before Sara can come out and ask him what he’s doing or smell the burger in the paper bag. Fucking hell, he thinks, as he takes the stairs two at a time. He feels like he’s harbouring a mistress in his own house already. </p><p>Liam’s sat at Noel’s desk when Noel comes in and locks the door behind him, frowning at Noel’s laptop as he clicks around the screen. </p><p>“What’re you doing?” Noel says, tossing the paper bag on the desk next to Liam. </p><p>“Looking,” Liam says. </p><p>“Don’t,” Noel says, and slams the laptop lid down. Liam jumps, just about managing to pull his hands out of the way in time, and swears loudly. </p><p>“Fucking cunt, what was that for?” he says, wincing like Noel had managed to cut off a finger. </p><p>“I don’t think you should know- y’know. About the future. Your future.” Noel’s not sure what he’s saying, but it might, like, rip a hole in the space-time continuum if Liam finds out that Oasis split up, or something. Or maybe it’ll hurt Liam, somehow. Maybe that’s what he’s really afraid of. </p><p>“Too late,” Liam says, leaning back in Noel’s chair and blinking up at him, a mix of emotions swimming in his blue eyes. “Why aren’t there any pictures of me on there?” </p><p>“Why would there be?” Noel deflects. </p><p>“You’ve got pictures of Paul,” Liam says, a little accusingly. Noel swears under his breath; he shouldn’t have left Liam alone in here, really. Except his laptop had been locked, hadn’t it? How the fuck had Liam got in?</p><p>“How the fuck did you know my password?” Noel says. Liam grins, childlike and wicked. </p><p>“‘S always something about me,” he says, and it makes Noel’s stomach churn because it’s true. He’d tried changing them, for a few years, after 2009, tried making it the place him and Sara had met or the first song he wrote for Anais but after one too many trips to the shop because he’d forgotten his password again (he could’ve <em> sworn </em> him and Sara met in Glasgow), he’d just changed them back. It didn’t mean anything, he’d told himself, as he changed his password back to the name of Liam’s Year Three form tutor. It never meant anything, if it was Liam. </p><p>“You shouldn’t’ve looked,” Noel says, flopping down on the sofa in the corner with a sigh and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He feels exhausted, all of a sudden, the day’s adrenaline slowly making its way out of his system. He’s too fucking old for this. </p><p>“You should’ve made your password harder to guess,” Liam counters, and there’s a rustling sound. Noel opens his eyes again to see Liam unwrapping the burger impatiently, taking a huge bite out of it, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. “This is fucking mega,” he adds. </p><p>“Good,” Noel says shortly. He’s glad Liam’s fucking enjoying himself, too busy with his fucking <em> burger </em> to think about the gravity of the situation. </p><p>“Won’t hurt to take the fucking stick out of your arse for a minute,” Liam says, rolling his eyes, with a mouthful of burger. </p><p>“Can you take fucking anything seriously?” Noel demands. “You’re- you shouldn’t fucking be here. You’re twenty-two. You’re from <em> nineteen-ninety-five. </em>” Liam shrugs. </p><p>“What good’s it going to do to get all upset about it?” he says, taking another bite of his burger. “Nowt I can do, is there? No point crying about it.” Noel inhales deeply, bites the inside of his cheek, and exhales heavily. </p><p>“What the fuck are we going to do?” he mutters, more to himself than anything. </p><p>“Cuh muh,” Liam says, muffled by burger. He swallows, and tries again. “Call me. The older me, I mean. He must’ve been through this all already, right?” </p><p>Noel swallows. Shit. He’s got a point. </p><p>“What?” Liam says, seeing the look on Noel’s face. Noel averts his eyes, gazing at his feet. </p><p>“What if he hasn’t?” he says. “Liam. You. The other one.” Fucking hell. This is the weirdest conversation he’s ever had. </p><p>“Can’t hurt to ask, can it?” Liam says, wiping his oily fingers on his jeans and reaching for the bag to get the chips out. Fucking pig. “Just call him and ask.” </p><p>“I-” Noel cuts himself off. He’s not sure how to - or whether he even should - tell Liam that he and the older version of Liam aren’t exactly on speaking terms. He doesn’t even have Liam’s number; he’d have to ring Mam first. And it’s pushing on for time - both Mam and Liam go to bed early. </p><p>“What?” Liam says again, a little more suspiciously. “Am I dead?” </p><p>“What?” Noel says, taken aback. “No, you- what?” Liam shrugs again. </p><p>“The look on your fucking face,” he says. “Just fucking call me, what’s the big deal?” Noel squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose. </p><p>“Alright,” he says, because he’s got literally no other ideas. “Fine. I’ll ring.” Liam grins at him, clearly proud that Noel’s okayed his idea, and shoves four chips in his mouth. “You’re disgusting,” Noel adds, as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and stands up. Liam frowns up at him as he chews. </p><p>“Where’re you going?” he says. Noel hesitates. He can’t exactly call their Mam in front of Liam, can he? What the fuck will Liam say to <em> can I have Liam’s number, please? </em> He can just imagine the litany of questions that’ll follow, the incensed expression on his face belying the hurt bubbling underneath the surface. Then again, though, Liam’ll find out at some point, won’t he? If the older Liam, the real Liam <em> does </em> know anything about it, their frosty relationship will become obvious fairly quickly. It’s probably better to tell him before he sees it himself. </p><p>“Look,” Noel says, sitting down again, finger hovering over his mam’s contact details. “I- Liam and I, we don’t talk.” Liam’s lips part slightly, brow furrowing in a deep frown. He’s trying to figure out how bad it is, whether it was Liam or Noel who caused it, how long it’s been, trying to gauge whether it’s temporary or permanent. </p><p>“How long?” Liam says. Noel swallows. The longest it had been in this Liam’s lifetime was probably a few days. </p><p>“Eleven years,” he says quietly, and Liam lets out a tiny gasp, eyes widening. </p><p>“Fuck off,” he says, but there’s a slight tremor in his voice, because he knows Noel’s not fucking around. </p><p>“I- it’s complicated,” Noel says. “But. You should know. Before we call him.” He’s not sure when <em> I </em> became <em> we, </em>but Liam doesn’t seem to notice anyway. </p><p>“Eleven years?” he says, voice breaking on the second word, making Noel wince. “What the fuck happened?” </p><p>“It’s- I don’t- it’s complicated,” Noel says again. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Liam says again, automatically this time. “I- we- <em> eleven years? </em> What fucking happened?” </p><p>“It’s complicated, Liam,” Noel repeats. He doesn’t have the time or energy to go into it all, to infuriate this young, impassioned Liam, because it’ll likely end in a fistfight that Noel no longer has the stamina for. </p><p>“D’you not love me anymore?” Liam asks bluntly. Noel blinks at him. </p><p>“Of course I do,” he says, although the words take him by surprise. </p><p>“D’you not love me like <em> that </em> anymore?” Liam says. His eyes are hard, jaw set, but his lips are twitching, betraying his fear. Rejection from Noel has always stung the hardest.</p><p>Noel swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s tried to convince himself, over the years, tried to tell himself it was just a sick phase, it was the drugs, even when it was ten years after he’d stopped taking them. It was Liam, it wasn’t him. He was better now, wasn’t so fucking twisted and disgusting anymore, he <em> didn’t </em> want to get on his knees for Liam anymore. </p><p>But sometimes, even now, even after the decade that’s grown between them, when Noel’s got his hand wrapped around his cock in some grim hotel room in America, there’ll be flashes of bright blue eyes, full lips, long, dark lashes, a white throat tipped back in a laugh. He always comes quicker than usual at those images, quicker and harder, but the post-orgasm glow is replaced with a heavy, leaden, sick feeling in his stomach. He shouldn’t want it, he <em> shouldn’t, </em> but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t. </p><p>“I don’t kn-” Noel stops himself. He does know. “I do.” </p><p>“So why?” </p><p>“Jesus, Liam, I’ve told you it’s complicated,” Noel says, a little less patiently, anger covering up the embarrassment and how fucking vulnerable he feels. “D’you want me to fucking call, or not?” Liam opens his mouth, ready to complain, and then closes it again. </p><p>“Fucking fine,” he mutters, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Noel as Noel presses the call button for his mam. </p><p>The phone rings twice, and then there’s a click, and she picks up. </p><p>“Hello, Noel,” she says. </p><p>“Hey, mam,” he replies. Liam frowns at him. </p><p>“Lovely to hear from you,” she says conversationally. “Little late, though.”</p><p>“I know, sorry,” Noel says apologetically. “I, uh. I need.” He clears his throat. “I need Liam’s number.” There’s a moment of silence at the other end of the line, and Noel sees Liam’s face drop. </p><p>“Alright,” his mam says after a minute. Noel loves her for not asking. He loves her for everything, really, except giving birth to Liam. “Here we go. Are you ready?” </p><p>“Yeah.” She reels off a number, and Noel scribbles it down hastily on the pad of paper he keeps next to the sofa, nodding as he goes. “Thanks, mam.” </p><p>“Oh, that’s alright, Noel.” She pauses, and then adds: “I’m glad.” Noel feels like a terrible son. He <em> is </em> a terrible son; he spent twenty years fucking one of her other sons. </p><p>“I’ve got to go, mam. I’ll call you soon,” Noel says, avoiding Liam’s hot, questioning gaze. </p><p>“Speak to you soon,” his mam says, and then she’s gone. Noel busies himself with typing the number in, hoping Liam’s not going to ask. His fingers are sweating a little, leaving marks on the screen, because fucking hell, what the fuck is Liam going to think? The real Liam, the older Liam, the one that Noel’s been making snide and biting comments about in the press for a decade, the one that sends Noel Christmas presents every year and hears nothing in return. What the fuck is he going to think? </p><p>“You don’t even have his number?” Liam asks, sounding strangely strangled. </p><p>“Obviously,” Noel says, a little icily. Liam doesn’t say anything else, but when Noel flicks his eyes up again, he’s leaning back in the chair, looking somewhere between hurt and afraid and bewildered, and it makes Noel’s stomach curl in on itself with something that he tries very hard not to identify as guilt. </p><p>The number’s typed, but he doesn’t want to press call. The button seems to loom at him, brighter and greener than he’s ever seen it before, like it’s challenging him, taunting him somehow. What if Liam doesn’t pick up? What if he picks up and then hangs up when he hears it’s Noel? What if- </p><p>His fingers have slipped as he’s been panicking, and the screen’s switched to dark grey, dialling the number. He can hear the dial tone from his lap, and he puts the phone to his ear hastily, pressing hard and turning the volume down, just in case Liam can hear in the silence of the room. </p><p>The phone rings five times, and Noel’s about to hang up, about to declare it a lost cause, when there’s a click, and Liam picks up. </p><p>“Who’s this?” he says, sounding a little grumpy. Noel swallows, mouth dry. This is the fucking last way he ever envisioned this going. He’d imagined Liam ringing him with a grovelling apology, maybe a few swear words chucked in, definitely more than a few innuendos, giving Noel the power and the luxury of deciding whether he would deign Liam with forgiveness or not. He’d never thought it’d be this way round, Noel ringing Liam, needing Liam. It’s just to get rid of the young Liam, he tells himself. It’s not a peace treaty, or even a truce. It’s just to get rid of the young Liam.</p><p>He swallows again, and opens his mouth. </p><p>“Hey, Liam.” There’s a pause. </p><p><em> “Noel?” </em> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Noel’s thought about this moment for years, toyed with millions of different fantasies. </p><p>The first few years, he’d envisioned screaming pure vitriol at Liam, getting out all the anger and spite and hatred in his heart, imagined the grim glee he’d feel if he could get Liam’s eyes to shimmer. When his anger started to abate, he thought about weary conversations with Liam, deep and emotional acknowledgements that things could never go back to how they were before, that their relationship was too broken to fix. When he started to forget why he’d even been angry in the first place, the fantasies shifted, started including gentle kisses and a warm body pressed against his own until he was so dizzy he’d started thinking that maybe it was just him that had been too broken, and only Liam could fix him. Hair of the dog, and all that. </p><p>He’d never imagined <em> this, </em> though. He’d never thought about how to say the words <em> hi, yeah, just calling because a younger version of you turned up in my office. You know anything about this? </em> </p><p>“Noel?” Liam says again, a little more hesitation in his voice this time, like maybe after all these years he’s forgotten the sound of Noel’s voice somehow. Noel can feel Liam’s eyes on him, the young Liam - fuck, this is going to get confusing, he’s going to have to start calling the young Liam Young Liam in his head - and he has to clear his throat in an attempt to get out the desire to slam the phone down and let the embarrassment bubble over into anger. </p><p>“Yeah,” Noel says, mumbling a little. He wishes Young Liam would fucking look somewhere else, or at the very least not stare so intently. He turns the volume down on his phone a little further, just in case. This conversation is humiliating enough without an audience. </p><p>“What the fuck?” Liam says, after a beat, sounding more perplexed than anything, and then, with a note of panic in his voice, he says: “Is Mam okay?” </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Is it Paul?” </p><p>“What? I- no, they’re fine, I-” </p><p>“Is it Sara? Anais, the boys? Oh, fuck, is it <em> you? </em>” </p><p>“Wh- we’re all fine, I-”</p><p>“Is it-”</p><p>“Will you let me fucking speak?” Noel can’t help but snap. That seems to stun Liam into a moment of silence, and Noel grabs it, eyes flitting to Young Liam for a brief moment. His face is twisted in an expression Noel can’t quite place, something like distaste and sadness and anger mixed with something completely unreadable. It’s unnerving; Noel’s always been able to read Liam, especially when he was this young. Liam’s always worn his heart on his sleeve for everybody to see, but Noel had always been the only one able to see the arteries and veins and aorta too. </p><p>“You- I don’t know how to say this,” Noel begins, “but can you- will you just listen to me, before you say anything?” There’s another pause. </p><p>“What the fuck?” Liam says again, a little darker this time, anger swelling in his tone. Noel almost lets out a sigh of relief; this is a road well-travelled for them, and he knows how to navigate Liam’s anger. </p><p>“Don’t be a cunt,” Noel says, an edge of his old big-brother tone already creeping into his voice. It makes him feel a little unsettled, somehow, like playing a song he’d written thirty years ago and thought he’d forgotten, although that might be from the way he can feel Young Liam’s eyes burning into him, trying to make out what’s going on from Noel’s side of the conversation. </p><p>“Don’t be a cunt?” Liam says, incredulously. “Don’t be a- are you fucking <em> mad? </em>You ringing me from a fucking asylum, lost your fucking mind?” </p><p>“All I’m asking is for you to hear me out,” Noel says, but he can hear the edge of desperation in his own voice and winces. If Liam cares to pick up on it, that’ll put Noel on the back foot even more than he already is. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Liam snaps, too angry to focus on the tone of the words coming out of Noel’s mouth. “You fucking ignore me for how fucking long, and suddenly call and I’m supposed to listen to whatever middle-class bullshit you want to throw at me now? Fuck off.” He doesn’t hang up though, which is something. He’s spoiling for a fight, and Noel’s got to suppress every single instinct he’s got that’s screaming at him to give it to Liam, to fall back into that pattern again. This is bigger than them, he reminds himself, consciously unclenching his jaw. This is bigger than the two of them. </p><p>“It’s important,” Noel says. </p><p>“Oh, fucking right, you only call me when you fucking need something,” Liam says derisively, venom dripping from every word. “Go on, then. What the fuck does the great Noel Gallagher need from <em> me? </em> What’s made the mighty Noel <em> deign </em> to speak to me again?” Noel doesn’t realise his right fist is clenched against his leg until he shifts slightly, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand uncomfortably. He exhales, unclenches his fist, spreads and flexes his fingers just to make sure they won’t curl up again. <em> Noel has a lot of buttons, Liam has a lot of fingers, </em> someone had once said, which Noel thinks pretty much sums it up. And now there are fucking two of them.</p><p>“This is going to sound- it’s going to sound fucking crazy,” Noel says, “but I’m telling the truth. Just- just listen, yeah?” </p><p>“Fucking <em> get on with it. </em>” Noel would, if he had any idea how to say it. He takes a deep breath. </p><p>“A young version of you turned up in my office today,” he says, all in a rush. “Neither of us know how to send him back. To 1995, I mean. Or 1994? I don’t know. He’s twenty-two. Did- did you ever…?” he trails off, because the question sounds so fucking <em> insane, </em> even though Young Liam’s <em> right there, </em> blue eyes a little narrowed, bottom lip between his teeth, inhaling and exhaling just like Noel. </p><p>There’s a pause. A long pause. </p><p>“D’you think this is funny?” Liam says, voice dangerously even. “D’you think I’m a fucking mug?” Noel’s heart sinks. </p><p>“I said it was going to sound crazy,” he starts, but Liam’s not finished.</p><p>“Is this all a fucking joke to you?” Liam interrupts. “We don’t fucking talk for eleven years and you suddenly ring me and start taking the piss?” </p><p>“I’m not taking the fucking piss, Liam, I-”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Liam says fiercely. “Shut the <em> fuck </em> up, Noel. I’ve been fucking <em> waiting, </em> fucking- fucking <em> crying, </em> sometimes, ‘cause I fucking <em> miss you, </em> right, I <em> love </em> you, and you call me for the first time in eleven years to- to make fun of me? Do I mean fucking nothing to you?” Noel opens his mouth to speak, to say <em> something </em> - Liam’s not <em> really </em> been crying over Noel, has he? - but before he can, the phone’s suddenly snatched out of his hand. Young Liam’s moved faster than Noel’s ever seen Liam move, grabbed the phone out of Noel’s fingers and run about eight feet away, out of Noel’s reach. </p><p>“Eeyar-” Noel starts, incensed, but Young Liam’s not bothered about him. </p><p>“Hello?” he says into the phone, staring at the wall opposite him, and Noel suddenly wishes he hadn’t turned the volume down that low. “Yeah, yeah. It’s Liam. Me. Or you, fucking, I don’t know.” There’s a brief pause, and his face twists into a scowl. “What? A fucking voice actor? No, fuck off.” Oh, fucking hell. Noel hadn’t even thought about the fact that Liam’s always itching for a fight, so two Liams might end in some kind of nuclear war, or something.</p><p>“Give it back,” Noel says, holding his hand out for the phone, but Young Liam’s eyes are still fixed on the wall, and he seems to have not even heard Noel speak.</p><p>“Something only I would know?” he says to himself, like he’s trying to wrap his head around the concept, and his eyes flit to Noel and then quickly to the wall opposite him. “I can’t. Not with Noel here.” Another moment passes, and Noel watches Young Liam’s jaw clench and unclench, his brows furrow, and he looks over at Noel again. Noel holds his gaze, trying to see what’s swimming in the storm of Young Liam’s eyes, and then Young Liam tears his gaze away, cups his hand around the phone and his mouth and whispers something into the microphone. </p><p>There’s a brief pause in which Noel’s heart speeds up - fuck, is Liam going to believe him now? - but then Young Liam purses his lips and sends Noel another furtive glance.</p><p>“I can’t say it any fucking louder,” he hisses into the phone. “D’you fucking want Noel to know?” There’s an edge to his tone that sets off alarm bells, that young and careless anger that Liam had never quite managed to shake, and Noel stands up sharply, deciding he should probably mediate the situation. Young Liam takes a few steps backwards, muttering something under his breath into the phone as Noel strides towards him. He’s still walking backwards, whispering furiously, and even Noel at five feet away can’t make out what he’s saying so Liam’s not got a fucking chance, until Young Liam’s backed against the wall and Noel’s all of three strides away and Young Liam suddenly seems to break and grits out: “I lost my virginity to Noel.”</p><p>Noel stops dead in his tracks, still three strides away, heart suddenly in his throat. </p><p>What?</p><p>Liam had always said he’d lost it to that bird from school, and then fucked that girl down the road and her sister, and that he’d even fucked the bloke from the corner shop’s son. It had been one of the things that had made Noel waver, because somehow it felt less depraved if he wasn’t the first. Somehow, it had felt like as long as he wasn’t the first tongue in Liam’s mouth, the first mouth on his cock, the first cock in his arse, then it wasn’t as bad. It didn’t seem to matter so much that he was kissing his brother, sucking his brother off, fucking his brother, as long as he wasn’t the first. </p><p>He’d held out on it for so long, too. When Liam had started to grow into himself, no more gangly limbs and awkward voice cracks, Noel had started to want to see him, more of him, finding excuses to be in the bathroom when Liam was showering. When Noel had forgotten his keys one day and Liam had answered the door, stubbled and dark-eyed and clearly drunk even though it was a school day, Noel had felt something deep in his stomach that he’d never felt before, something that was a desire and a need and a primal urge. It wasn’t like it was <em> that, </em> though, he’d told himself. It couldn’t be. Liam was his <em> brother. </em> </p><p>But then Liam started looking at him from under thick, dark lashes and Noel started thinking <em> maybe it </em> is <em> like that. Maybe it can be like that, </em> and <em> Liam can be my brother. Maybe they’re not mutually exclusive. </em> And then Liam started pushing Noel’s buttons harder and more often, started wheedling and insulting and snapping at just the right levels to get Noel to break and lay hands on him, started being less careful when he was wanking, started pressing up close against Noel when passing him in the hallway. And then, when Noel didn’t react as quickly as Liam had wanted - he was never one to be particularly patient - he’d sat on Noel’s bed one morning, dressed in his crisp white school shirt that Mam had ironed last night and his black-and-green tie that used to be Noel’s, and said the words. </p><p>“Kiss me,” he’d said. Noel had barely even fucking been awake, struggling onto his elbows and blinking blearily at Liam. </p><p>“What?” he’d said, sure he’d misheard. Liam had just blinked back at him, face set in a determined and earnest expression. </p><p>“Kiss me.” </p><p>“Fuck off.” Noel had used his foot to shove Liam harshly off his bed, rolled over, and closed his eyes again. Liam had sighed, got to his feet, and left the room, and Noel had waited until the door clicked shut to exhale again, to swallow down the bile in his throat and try to calm his churning stomach. </p><p>Liam’s never been one to give up easily on something he wants, though, and Noel’s always needed a bit of chasing from Liam, always needed to feel like he was only giving in to shut him up rather than because he wanted to, so the next morning, Liam had done the same thing. Noel had kicked him off the bed again, and Liam had left, and Noel had stared at the ceiling this time. And then the next day, it was the same thing. And the day after that. And the day after that. And then, after nearly three weeks, Liam had added something else. </p><p>“I know you want to.” It had made Noel’s breath catch in his throat, made him almost swallow his tongue as he shot bolt upright, giving himself away in the panic of that action alone. </p><p>“You’re fucking twisted, you,” he’d spat, and Liam had just stared back at him. </p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” he’d said. “But so are you.” </p><p>He’d stopped for a while, after that. Noel had woken up with bated breath the next morning when he’d heard Liam stumbling around trying to find clean trousers, waiting for the inevitable demand, but it never came. Liam had just sworn under his breath and picked his dirty trousers from the day before up off the floor, then slammed the door shut behind him and run downstairs to have breakfast. But Liam’s not good at leaving anything alone, let alone leaving something he wants alone, so it had only been a few weeks before he’d tried again. </p><p>This time, after a few weeks of hollow disappointment every morning when Noel didn’t feel the end of his mattress dip with Liam’s weight, Noel had sat upright before Liam had even got the question out. </p><p>“If I kiss you,” he’d said, voice carefully bored, “will you fuck off?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Liam had said, even though they’d both known he’d been lying. </p><p>So Noel had done it. He’d leant forwards, watched Liam’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly, like he hadn’t ever really believed Noel would do it, and pressed his lips to Liam’s. A chaste, brotherly kiss. </p><p>Except a chaste, brotherly kiss probably didn’t involve Liam tilting his head and making a small noise of pleasure and opening his mouth for Noel to lick into, sucking gently on Liam’s tongue, and most likely didn’t involve Liam pushing closer to Noel, hands splayed across Noel’s back, until he was almost in Noel’s lap, and <em> definitely </em> didn’t involve Liam letting out a tiny moan when he finally made it into Noel’s lap and realised Noel was hard. </p><p>Noel had pulled away, heart racing, and made a show of wiping his mouth and pulling a face, like it was fucking disgusting, like <em> Liam </em> was fucking disgusting. Neither of them had believed that either, but it had made Noel feel better that he’d at least tried. He’d given Liam what he wanted, now, so he could fuck off and leave Noel alone. </p><p>Liam, though, doesn’t know the meaning of fuck off when it comes to Noel, so the next week he’d been back with a new request. </p><p>“Touch me.” </p><p>That had taken more work. Kissing his brother was one thing, sure, but <em> touching </em> him? That felt like a boundary to Noel, felt like something he had to draw a line at and say <em> no, Liam, you’re fucking mental. </em> It was <em> wrong, </em> he told himself, even though the fizzing and bubbling and heady desire in his stomach had said otherwise. He shouldn’t want to touch Liam. He shouldn’t want to wrap his fingers around Liam’s cock just to see how they fit. He shouldn’t want to spread Liam’s legs and work his fingers into him just to see how many he could take. He shouldn’t want fucking any of that. </p><p>“No,” Noel had said, about three weeks into Liam’s latest attack. “Find someone else.” </p><p>“I have,” Liam had said, “but I want you.” </p><p>That had made Noel stop and think. Maybe, he’d thought to himself, maybe it was okay if Liam had done it already. Maybe then it wouldn’t be Noel besmirching him, debasing him, corrupting him. Maybe it wasn’t because they were <em> brothers, </em> because they were past the point of being able to pretend that was a barrier; maybe it was because it felt like Noel would be taking advantage of his innocence, his naivety, and if <em> that </em> was already gone, then- </p><p>Well. </p><p>(Tongues, fingers, hands, cocks, desperate whines falling from both their lips as Noel thrust into Liam harder, faster, a fist twisted in Liam’s hair to keep his head in place, keep him staring up into Noel’s eyes as Noel made him his.) </p><p>Liam had always insisted, every time he upped the stakes, that he’d done it before. <em> Who the fuck d’you think I am? </em> he’d scoff, when Noel would pointedly say <em> no, not with me. Find someone else. </em> He’d done this with the girl in his Chemistry class who was mad for him, behind the bushes outside the science block, y’know, and he’d done <em> that </em> with the boy he got the bus home with in the ginnel next to his house. Noel was never the first, of course he wasn’t, and that was what made him give in every time, what let him think <em> yeah, I’m fucking my brother, but at least it wasn’t me that took his innocence. </em> </p><p>So now, standing in his office thirty-odd years later, staring at Young Liam’s wide blue eyes and his semi-afraid expression, Noel feels like his whole fucking world is collapsing in on him. Liam can’t have lost his virginity to Noel. He can’t have kept it for that long, surely, not with the way he looked, and the way girls and boys were always looking at him. They hadn’t fucked until Liam was just shy of eighteen, when Noel had smelled one too many boys on him and been <em> certain </em> that he wouldn’t be the first. He can’t have been. </p><p>Young Liam’s still not said anything, and Noel still can’t hear anything from Liam’s end of the line, but it doesn’t seem to matter when Young Liam turns and catches Noel’s eye, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks so young, so sweet, so innocent, so like the boy Noel had fucked for the first time all those years ago, whispering encouragements and praise into his ear as he’d pressed in further, deeper, never able to get in far enough. </p><p>“You said it was the girl at school,” Noel says, and his voice comes out strangled. Young Liam hesitates for a moment, just a split second, and then shrugs. </p><p>“I lied,” he says, like admitting it makes it okay. Like it doesn’t change the fucking course of everything. Like it doesn’t mean everything Noel believed was built on foundations of sand.</p><p>(Like it doesn’t mean Liam saved himself for Noel, and look what Noel’s done with it now.) </p><p>Noel’s marching forwards and wrenching the phone back out of Young Liam’s hands before he’s really thought about it, pulling it to his ear and trying to hear Liam over the pounding in his ears. </p><p>“Is he telling the truth?” he demands. There’s nothing but static and crackling at the other end of the line for a moment, and Noel thinks that Liam might have just hung up, or maybe put them on hold, until Liam speaks. </p><p>“Yeah.” His voice is lower, more gravelly than Young Liam’s, and the juxtaposition splinters Noel’s heart for some reason. </p><p>“Why the <em> fuck </em> did you lie to me?” Noel says, the only question that makes its way through the haze of panic and confusion and disgust clouding his mind right now. </p><p>“You’d never have done it if you knew,” Liam says. </p><p>“Fucking right I wouldn’t’ve,” Noel says, and he’s angry now, angry that Liam lied and that he believed it. “I never wanted to fucking be-” he cuts himself off, can’t bring himself to say <em> your first, </em> but Liam hears it anyway. So does Young Liam, by the look on his face. </p><p>“Well, I wanted you to be,” Liam says, like it’s as simple as that. “‘S not fucking important, now, anyway, is it? You’ve got a fucking alien in your office.” </p><p>“It is fucking important,” Noel snaps, but he glances at Young Liam again, and there’s a little tug at his heart when Young Liam blinks back at him with his long lashes and full lips. Young Liam didn’t do this to <em> him, </em>after all. This isn’t his fault; whatever alternate Noel exists in his world can take it up with him when the moment strikes. This is all on Liam. “And he’s not a fucking alien.” </p><p>“An alien?” Young Liam says, incensed. “I’m not a fucking-” </p><p>“I know,” Noel says, cutting across him, because Jesus fucking Christ, Liam’s always had a fucking uncanny ability to pick up on the <em> one </em> thing that doesn’t matter in a situation. </p><p>“How d’you know?” Liam says, in Noel’s ear. </p><p>“Because he’s fucking <em> here, </em> you prick.” </p><p>“Why’s that mean he’s not an alien?” </p><p>“How would an alien know- know <em> that? </em>” Noel says. Liam’s silent for a moment. </p><p>“I don’t fucking know,” he grumbles, after a minute. “Mind-reading, or summat. Maybe I was abducted.” Noel wants to scream. </p><p>“So you don’t know anything about this, then?” he says, without screaming. It’s a step. </p><p>“Me? No. Should I?” Liam sounds genuinely surprised. </p><p>“Well, he’s from fucking ninety-four-”</p><p>“Ninety-five,” Young Liam corrects. </p><p>“-ninety-five, whatever, so. Maybe it happened to you, too.” Liam exhales, and Noel can almost picture him shrugging. </p><p>“Nah,” he says. Fucking wonderful. All of this for nothing. </p><p>“Fucking great,” Noel says contemptuously, and Young Liam sags a little, making guilt blossom in Noel’s chest. It’s not just about him, he reminds himself. Young Liam’s the one who’s drawn the shortest stick here, although none of them are particularly long. Young Liam’s the one who’s stuck here, the one who’s in an alien world with an older Noel who doesn’t talk to his brother, the one who’s got nobody else to turn to if Noel doesn’t look out for him. The thought frightens Noel a little, makes Young Liam seem oddly small and helpless, someone every nerve in Noel’s body is screaming at him to protect better than he did the first time around. </p><p>“What’re you gonna do?” Liam asks. </p><p>“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Noel demands. </p><p>“Not a clue,” Liam says. “Have you told her?” </p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Sara.” He says the word with so much distaste that it makes Noel’s blood boil all over again, and he has to clench and unclench his fist three times to get himself under control again. Young Liam, he chants to himself, a surreal mantra in his mind. Young Liam’s the only thing that matters right now. Him and Liam can scream and fight later on, when Young Liam’s back where he belongs. </p><p>“No,” Noel says shortly. “What the fuck would I say?” </p><p>“‘My very attractive twenty-two-year-old brother is in my office so I’m going to be locking myself away for a good shag for the first time in eleven years’,” Liam suggests. Noel’s fingers curl inwards again. </p><p>“Get to fuck,” he says, fiercer than he would have liked, and Young Liam’s eyes narrow. Noel tries to smooth out his brow, tries to neutralise his expression a little, and clears his throat. He’s supposed to be the adult here. He’s supposed to be above all this. “D’you have <em> anything </em> useful to say before I hang up?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Liam says candidly. “I’m glad.” </p><p>“You’re glad what?” Noel says. </p><p>“I’m glad he’s there.” What the fuck?</p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Because I can’t be.” Noel’s heart skips a beat. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“You know what,” Liam says, in that sincere, serious tone he gets for approximately five seconds a week when he’s actually saying something valuable. And it hurts, because Noel <em> does </em> know what, and he knows it’s his fault. Before he has a chance to answer, though, Liam’s saying something else. “Maybe he’s from a parallel universe. Y’know, like in the films, and that.” Noel’s eyes flit to Young Liam, standing in the corner of the room, backed up against the wall, arms folded against his chest and a defiant expression on his face. </p><p>“Maybe,” Noel says, eyes still on Young Liam. “How would we know?” </p><p>“Dunno,” Liam says, clearly exhausted of all helpfulness after that one comment. Fucking brilliant. </p><p>“Great,” Noel says, trying his best to tamp down the irritation crawling up his throat. “Fucking cheers for that.” </p><p>“It’s still a fucking idea, isn’t it?” Liam says, a little incensed. “You’ve not got anything better.” </p><p>“What’d he say?” Young Liam asks. Noel waves a hand at him, one that he hopes conveys <em> I’ll tell you in a minute, kid, I’m busy.  </em></p><p>“Be careful with him,” Liam says, in Noel’s ear. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“You heard me.” The irritation bubbling in Noel’s chest is met with a flash of embarrassment and immediately turns into hot anger, sizzling its way into his veins and making his vision blur around the edges, because what Liam means is <em> treat him better than you treated me. </em></p><p>“Fuck off,” he snaps, harsher than he’d intended, but he doesn’t care. “You’re a right fucking cunt, y’know that?” </p><p>“Aye,” Liam says, and doesn’t sound too upset about it. Noel fucking hates him. </p><p>“Get fucked,” he says shortly, and hangs up. </p><p>The room’s too silent without Liam chatting shit in his ear, too big and somehow too small for just Noel and Young Liam, who’s still standing in the corner, blinking at Noel like he’s trying to figure something out. </p><p>“You love him,” Young Liam says, matter-of-fact. Noel grits his teeth. </p><p>“I hate him,” he says. Young Liam nods. </p><p>“Yeah,” he says, and leaves it at that. He doesn’t need to add anything more, though, because Noel knows what he means. <em> You can’t hate me if you don’t care about me, </em> Liam had once said to him, drunk and high and fucking miserable because Noel hadn’t spoken to him in three days after he’d got them kicked out of Sweden, or maybe Denmark. <em> If you didn’t love me, you couldn’t hate me. </em> </p><p>(Noel had been so irate at the time that he’d not been able to do anything other than force Liam to his knees, pulling his hair too roughly as Liam tenderly, gently sucked the head of Noel’s cock, hating that it was the only way he could tell Liam both <em> I hate you </em> and <em> I love you </em> and, lurking somewhere within it, <em> I need you. </em>) </p><p>But he can’t do that now. He can’t take this Liam by the scruff of the neck, pin him against the wall and hold his face just inches from Noel’s own, and let that anger work its way out through lips and hands and hips. That’s not his place, not with this Liam. </p><p>“You can sleep here tonight,” he says instead. </p><p>“Where the fuck else was I going to sleep?” Young Liam says, but he doesn’t budge from the wall. There’s a look in his eyes, something Noel’s familiar with and grown to fear, something that comes right before Liam does something impulsive. And, like clockwork, Young Liam tilts his chin up slightly, looks down at Noel, and says: “Kiss me.” </p><p>It feels like a fucking joke, really. Noel’s <em> fifty-three, </em> married with kids, hasn’t spoken to his brother in eleven years, worked his way through and over all of this, and yet here’s this young, pretty Liam, the one Noel had always wanted to worship and desecrate more than anything else, saying those same words that Noel had heard thirty years ago. </p><p>“Are you insane?” he manages to get out. Young Liam’s chin tilts further, his lashes lowering slightly, and he cocks his head a little. </p><p>“I can see it in your eyes,” he says, far too shrewdly. </p><p>“You’re fucking delusional,” Noel says, as derisively as he can, but he’s glued to the spot, can’t take a step back and away from Young Liam. His kids are upstairs, his fucking <em> wife </em> is waiting for him in bed, but it doesn’t really feel like it matters when Young Liam’s standing there, pliant and docile and yet the only thing Noel’s never been able to control. </p><p>Because that’s what it’s always been, for Noel. He’d never had control as a child, had never been able to do anything other than just fucking take it when a fist had come swinging at him, until their Mam had up and left, and he’d vowed to himself that he’d never put any part of his life in anyone else’s hands ever again. He’d sought out romances where he could control his side of the relationship, carefully let them see parts of him until they thought they’d seen everything, always made sure to say the right thing, do the right thing, and keep the relationship on the trajectory he envisioned it travelling. He’d been the sole songwriter for the band for God knows how long, unable to let anybody else have a say in what went on and what stayed off the record lest it turned out anything less than the exact thing Noel had in mind. He consciously selected which parts of his personality to show to which people, who to tell the truth to and who to lie to, what to say to one person and what to hide from another, so he could make sure he was being perceived exactly as he wanted to be by his family, his friends, his fans. There was no element of Noel’s life that wasn’t held tightly within his grasp, except for Liam. </p><p>Fucking Liam. Liam, who’s known every intimate part of Noel’s person and mind and soul since he was fucking four years old and demanding Noel play football with him in the back yard. He’d seen then, when Noel had told him <em> piss off, you, </em>because he was busy doing nine-year-old things, and when Liam’s eyes had welled up and his bottom lip had started to tremble, that Noel had no control. He had no control over Liam, and he had no control when it came to Liam, because he’d put his nine-year-old things away with a dramatic sigh, taken Liam’s sticky little hand in his own and trudged out to the garden with him. It had never got better since then; Liam was predictably unpredictable, and Noel was unpredictably predictable, and the one certainty that tied the two of them together was that Liam needed Noel and Noel needed Liam. Liam needed Noel’s attention, needed him to laugh at Liam’s jokes and snap at Liam’s insults, and Noel needed Liam to need him, needed the way Liam would blink at him beseechingly when he suggested a correction to a song and the way he would press himself against Noel and beg, again and again, for Noel to kiss him, touch him, fuck him. </p><p>It feels fucking heady, sends all the blood in Noel’s body rushing to his head along with the power, to have this Young Liam here again, the one Noel had loved and fucked and tossed away, asking for more. It makes him giddy, because Liam is the only person who doesn’t yield to Noel, who doesn’t give in easy except for the times he does, and Young Liam’s still standing there, waiting patiently for Noel to capitulate yet ready to snap any moment that he deems a moment too long. </p><p>“Well?” he prompts. </p><p>“I’m fucking married,” Noel says, and the guilt surging through him feels twice as bitter because he feels guilty for not feeling guilty that his fucking <em> wife </em> is in <em> their </em> bed and he’s standing here, hovering three feet away from his little brother who’s just asked him for a kiss. </p><p>“And?” Young Liam says, like it means fucking nothing. Well, Noel thinks, a little contemptuously, marriage hasn’t exactly ever meant a lot to Liam, has it? </p><p>(He ignores the little voice in his head that says <em> well, he might have been unfaithful with a slew of women, but you fucked your brother through your first marriage too. </em>) </p><p>“I’m not kissing you, Liam,” Noel says, and takes a step back. Young Liam’s face drops a little, and then he pulls himself together, and shrugs, like he doesn’t care. </p><p>“Maybe not yet,” he says, pushing himself off the wall and walking around Noel to the sofa, throwing himself down on it inelegantly. “But I can see it in your eyes.” </p><p>“You need a fucking optician,” Noel says scornfully. “Or maybe a lobotomy.” </p><p>“Or maybe a kiss,” Young Liam says, turning his head and grinning up at Noel with glittering eyes. </p><p>“Fuck off,” Noel says. It feels like the eighth time that evening he’s told a Liam to fuck off. When will either of them get the message? </p><p>“How?” Young Liam says, still grinning. Noel stares at him for a moment, and then shakes his head. </p><p>“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he says. Liam kicks his feet up onto the arm of the sofa - shoes and all, mind - and sighs contentedly, like those are the words he wanted to hear from Noel. </p><p>“You’re fucking old,” he says. </p><p>“I’m going to fucking bed, is what I am,” Noel says, because every moment spent with this Liam is a threat to his self-control. </p><p>“You’re not staying here?” Young Liam says, his hopeful eyes belying his casual tone. </p><p>“No,” Noel says. “How the fuck would I explain that to my wife?” Young Liam shrugs, but it’s a little tense and jerky. He wants Noel to stay. </p><p>“Not my problem,” he says. Noel hesitates, thinks for a moment <em> maybe I could stay, it’s not like I haven’t kipped here before, Sara wouldn’t question it, </em> before the guilt surges through him again and tells him <em> not a fucking chance, mate, that’s your wife. The mother of your fucking kids.  </em></p><p>“I’ll get you some pyjamas,” he says, a little shortly. Young Liam scoffs. </p><p>“I’ll be walking around half-mast,” he says, and Noel rolls his eyes. </p><p>“I’m only two fucking inches shorter than you, you prick,” he says, already halfway to the door. </p><p>“Wait,” Young Liam says, and Noel stops, and turns around. “I need to piss.” Oh, shit. </p><p>The office doesn’t have an en suite. The closest loo isn’t far, just across the hall, but it’s still across the hall. It should be fine now, when everyone’s asleep, but what are they going to do in the day? It’s not like Noel can ask Young Liam to hold it from dawn ‘til dusk. They’ll have to figure out a system. And Young Liam’s going to need new clothes until they can figure out how to get him back to wherever he came from, which means Noel’s going to have to find a way to surreptitiously do laundry. Maybe Liam can send over some of his old stuff; he’s never been able to let go of anything from his glory days. </p><p>“Right,” Noel says. “I’ll check no one’s about, and then you go and piss.” Young Liam hesitates for a moment, looks like he wants to argue about it, but then Noel cocks an eyebrow and he sighs and gets to his feet. </p><p>“Alright, wanker,” he says, ambling to the door. Noel gets there first, puts a hand on the door handle, and turns back to Young Liam. </p><p>“Don’t make any fucking noise,” he warns. Young Liam rolls his eyes. </p><p>“You’re so fucking uptight,” he grumbles, which is as close to acquiescence as Noel’s going to get from him. Noel chooses to ignore the comment, just opens the door carefully and quietly, and sticks his head out to the corridor. It’s dark and silent, everyone already in their rooms, and Noel takes a tentative step outside, looking left to right just in case Anais pops around the corner heading for a midnight snack, or something. </p><p>“Alright,” he whispers, voice too loud in the silence of the corridor, when he figures the coast is clear. He beckons to Young Liam, who’s still hiding behind the door, and gestures to the room opposite the office. “Bathroom’s in there.” Young Liam heads out, not avoiding the creaky floorboard that Noel always steps over without a second thought, and it squeaks loudly, making Noel wince and Young Liam look down in mild interest. </p><p>“Fucking get in,” Noel hisses, reaching out and pushing at the small of Young Liam’s back, propelling him to the bathroom. </p><p>“Fucking hell, calm down,” Young Liam says in a stage whisper. “It’s just a fucking floorboard.” </p><p>“Go and fucking piss,” Noel whispers back, giving Young Liam one last shove into the bathroom and trying to ignore the way his fingertips feel like they’re on fire from the warmth of Young Liam’s skin. Young Liam just gives him a two-fingered salute before slamming - <em> slamming </em> - the bathroom door shut, and Noel jumps and hisses <em> cunt </em> at the bathroom door loud enough that he knows Young Liam has heard it before he turns and heads for the stairs. </p><p>Sara’s still awake when Noel slips into the room, reading something in bed, and she turns to him with a soft smile. </p><p>“Working hard?” she says, as he heads for the chest of drawers he keeps his pyjamas and underwear in and tries to use his body to shield what he’s getting out. </p><p>“Yeah,” Noel says, because, well, Liam <em> is </em> hard work, and Young Liam’s no better. </p><p>“What’re you doing?” Sara asks, mildly curious. </p><p>“Throwing some things out,” Noel says, grabbing the first set of pyjamas he sees. “Don’t wait up for me.” Sara doesn’t question it, and he loves her for it, just nods and turns back to her book. </p><p>“Night,” she calls softly, when he heads back out of the door, pyjamas stuffed as small as he can make them in his right arm so she can’t see from where she’s lying in bed what they are. </p><p>“Night,” he calls back, clicks the door shut behind him, and jogs back down the stairs. </p><p>The light’s still on in the bathroom, and the door is cracked open just the tiniest amount, just enough for Noel to make out a bright blue eye looking up and down the corridor, waiting for Noel. When Young Liam spots him coming back down the stairs, he pulls the door open fully, letting the light from the bathroom spill onto the carpet. </p><p>“Brought you some pyjamas,” Noel says, holding them up. “There’s a spare toothbrush in here, somewhere.” Young Liam steps aside to let Noel in, and then shuts the door behind them, trapping the two of them in this small, bright room that hurts Noel’s eyes a bit. It’s a situation they’ve been in so many times before, the two of them cramped into a small bathroom, but it’s usually been with bags of drugs or bottles of alcohol or already intoxicated by the smell of the other. It’s never been like this, Young Liam blinking at Noel as he hands over the crumpled pyjamas and boxers and starts rummaging in the drawers for a toothbrush. </p><p>“You’ll have to take the toothbrush back into the office with you,” Noel’s saying, as he picks out a green toothbrush and straightens up again. “Otherwise-” he turns to Young Liam, and stops short. </p><p>“Otherwise?” Young Liam says, like he’s not standing there bollock fucking naked, and busying himself with smoothing out the pyjama top. Noel knows it’s just for show, just to make sure Noel’s watching, because he always sleeps shirtless, anyway. </p><p>“Can you put some fucking clothes on?” Noel says, averting his gaze. Young Liam shrugs, and tosses the top aside. </p><p>“Never bothered you before,” he says, but he pulls the boxers towards him. <em> Maybe it should’ve, </em> Noel wants to say, but he doesn’t, just waits until Young Liam’s got the boxers and the pyjama bottoms on and then hands him the toothbrush and tries not to let his eyes roam Young Liam’s torso. Was he really that skinny back then? And his chest hair so sparse? </p><p>He waits in silence while Young Liam brushes his teeth, feels like he’s twelve and Liam’s seven all over again, like his mam’s just instructed him to <em> keep watch while Liam brushes his teeth, would you, Noel, because he’s just had to get another filling and I don’t think he’s brushing properly. </em> Liam had made a big show of not brushing his teeth as soon as he’d realised what was going on because Noel would have to do it for him, would have to cup Liam’s face in his hands gently while he scrubbed fiercely at the back of Liam’s mouth, and Liam would blink innocently at Noel and smile all serenely like that hadn’t been his plan all along. Lazy fucker. </p><p>“Alright,” Young Liam says, when he’s spat and rinsed. “You gonna chaperone me back to the office, or what?” Noel sighs, purses his lips, but elects not to say anything, not to let Young Liam goad him into a fight. Instead, he picks up the clothes Young Liam had throws on the floor, opens the door, peers around the corridor again, and then shuffles out and indicates for Young Liam to head back to the office. Young Liam takes his sweet fucking time, meanders jauntily out of the bathroom and starts looking at the paintings they’ve got hanging on the walls, and Noel has to step forward and push him into the office again. </p><p>“Right,” he says, when they’re safely back inside and the door’s shut behind them. “I’ll come down as soon as I get up, and we can- we can try and sort something out. There’s a blanket behind the sofa if you get cold.” </p><p>“Can you really not stay?” Young Liam says lowly, a little hesitantly. Noel’s heart does a very good impression of an Olympics gymnastics routine. </p><p>“No,” he says, but it’s softer this time, still firm but kind. “I’ll be back in the morning.” Young Liam sighs, but nods, and heads back to the sofa. Noel watches him, makes sure he’s lying down and comfortable and at least pretending like he’s going to sleep, and then remembers his laptop is still on the desk and heads over to pick it up. </p><p>“You’re no fucking fun,” Young Liam grumbles, so Noel knows he’s made the right call, that Young Liam had been intending on spending the night looking up all he can on Noel’s computer. </p><p>“You’re a fucking menace,” Noel tells him, and only half means it. “Go to fucking sleep.” </p><p>“It’s fucking eleven p.m.,” Young Liam shoots back. </p><p>“Then don’t fucking sleep,” Noel says. “I don't care. Just don’t make any noise and don’t leave the room.” </p><p>“You’ll lock me in anyway,” Young Liam says derisively. “Fucking prison guard.” </p><p>“You fucking need one,” Noel retorts, halfway to the door. </p><p>“You’ve always tried your best to be one,” Young Liam says. Noel inhales deeply, exhales heavily. He doesn’t really know what he can say to that that isn’t <em> I just wanted the best for you </em> or <em> I just wanted you to be careful </em> or <em> I just wanted you. </em> </p><p>“Go to bed,” he says instead, shortly. Young Liam grumbles something under his breath, but he shifts on the sofa, curls up on himself, crosses his arms over his chest. He looks so disarmed like this, shirtless and barefoot, in Noel’s slightly-too-short pyjama bottoms, looks so vulnerable, and Noel just wants to stride over and press a soft kiss to his temple, ruffle his hair, say something insulting but fond. He doesn’t, though, just puts his hand on the cold door handle to steady himself, and allows himself one last look at the view. </p><p>He really does love Liam, young or not. </p><p>He turns back around, pulls down on the door handle and opens the door, when he hears a soft voice from behind him. </p><p>“Night, Noely,” Young Liam says, just like he used to when he was curling up in Noel’s arms after a nightmare, or when he came in at four in the morning steaming drunk after a night out and Noel was furious with him for interrupting his sleep because <em> some of us have to fucking work for a living, </em> or when he was sleepy and content on Noel’s bare chest, tracing patterns on Noel’s thigh with Noel’s arms wrapped tightly around him. </p><p>“Night,” Noel says, staring out at the corridor, not trusting himself to turn around again. “Sleep well.” With that, he closes the door behind him, locks it and pockets the key, and then rests his forehead against the door, heart pounding and fingers trembling slightly. </p><p>What the fuck is he going to do?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Noel barely sleeps that night, caught in that purgatory between asleep and awake that means he wakes up bleary-eyed and more exhausted than he’d been when he fell asleep. Sara’s still asleep when he wakes up, and he rolls over to see the time - six a.m., Christ - and then rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as his brain slowly starts to kick into gear. It’s Thursday, he’s got to drop Donovan off at the bus stop and Sonny off at school, then maybe head to the studio with that song he’s been toying with, then-</p><p>He sits bolt upright in bed, adrenaline shooting through his body. </p><p>Young Liam. </p><p>Memories of the previous day suddenly hit him, and he feels a little nauseous, palms sweating as he stares blankly at the wall opposite him. He’d almost forgotten, almost assigned the whole thing to that strange half-asleep half-awake state he’d spent the whole night in, but now, in the weak morning light filtering through the curtains, his mind cycles through all the events of the previous day. Young Liam showing up in his office, Noel drinking half a bottle of whiskey trying to convince himself he wasn’t there, Young Liam with his clothes all rumpled, calling Liam to try and- <em> shit, </em> calling Liam. </p><p>He glances over at Sara, still fast asleep, and then slips out of bed, grabs the key to the office off his bedside table, opens the door as quietly as possible and takes his time closing it so it doesn’t squeak like it usually does, and then turns on his heel and marches down the stairs as fast as he can. </p><p>The door to his office feels oddly bigger than it ever has before, looming before he’s even got close, and Noel finds himself eyeing it in trepidation for a moment before he slots the key into the lock. Maybe he <em> had </em> imagined it all. Maybe he’d just been fucking tripping yesterday, had his coffee laced with acid, or something. Maybe it <em> was </em> all a dream. A very, very lucid dream. </p><p>The key turns quietly in the well-oiled lock, and Noel finds himself holding his breath, not wanting to make a single sound as the door clicks open. The room’s still dark, curtains drawn, and Noel’s eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness, but even as he blinks and squints he can make out a lump curled up on the sofa, making his heart sink. </p><p>“Liam?” he says, and his voice sounds too loud in the quiet of the room. The lump stirs, and then there’s a groan, and the person rolls onto their side. </p><p>“Wha’?” a voice - unmistakably Liam’s - says groggily. </p><p>Shit. </p><p>“Time’s it?” Young Liam mumbles.</p><p>“Six.”</p><p>“<em> Six? </em> What the fuck ‘m I up for, then?” Young Liam says, sounding annoyed. Noel’s eyes are slowly starting to adjust to the poor light, and he can see Young Liam looking at him, one arm resting over his forehead. He doesn’t really have a good answer for that. <em> Just had to check you still weren’t a figment of my imagination </em>doesn’t sound particularly sane. </p><p>“I have to take the kids to school,” he says instead. </p><p>“At six in the morning?” Well, no. </p><p>“Had to make sure you’d be up before them,” Noel says. It doesn’t make any sense, but Young Liam just looks at him for another moment, and then sighs, and lets his arm roll over his eyes. </p><p>“Six in the fucking morning,” he mutters, and then heaves his arm off his face and himself into a seated position. Noel takes this as his cue to turn the light on, which apparently was the wrong decision, because Young Liam squawks in protest and puts his arm back over his eyes, telling Noel <em> turn that shit off, you dick, are you trying to blind me? </em></p><p>“Stop being such a princess,” Noel says smartly, and walks over to his desk, sitting in his chair. He’s oddly aware of the fact he’s wearing his pyjamas, curls his toes in on themselves as he realises he’s barefoot too. It’s nothing Young Liam’s won’t have seen before, even at this age, already years into having his fingers and tongue on Noel’s bare skin, but Noel feels strangely exposed all the same. Maybe it’s the way Young Liam’s gaze stays trained on him, bleary-eyed and tired, but even when he leans back against the sofa, yawning and not bothering to cover his mouth, Noel has to fight back the urge to cross his arms over himself, knowing Young Liam will see it for the defensive move it is. </p><p>“When d’you have to go?” Young Liam asks, through his yawn. </p><p>“Quarter past eight,” Noel says. “But I have to get them ready and make breakfast first.” Young Liam falters halfway through his yawn, looks at Noel with an unreadable expression on his face. </p><p>“You used to get me ready for school,” he says, voice sounding a little strange. “Used to make me breakfast, too.” Well. Breakfast is a bit of a stretch, really; Noel used to shake out a bowl of cornflakes for a nine-year-old Liam to wolf down or shove some toast down his throat before pulling him away from the table and herding him out of the door. </p><p>“Yeah, well,” Noel says. “Mam would’ve killed me if I hadn’t.” Young Liam just looks at him again, that strange, half-tense expression on his face, and then he looks away, stares down at the thin blanket covering his lower half instead. </p><p>“How is she?” he asks quietly. </p><p>“Mam?” Young Liam nods, and Noel’s heart softens. He can’t even begin to imagine all the concerns going through Young Liam’s mind at the moment; the idea that he might worrying about their mam, nearly thirty years older and weaker than he’d last seen her, hadn’t even occurred to Noel. </p><p>“She’s alright,” Noel says. </p><p>“Does she still live in Manchester?” Noel hesitates. He’s not sure about the rules of time travel, or of visits from parallel universes - or if there even are any - but he’s pretty sure every movie he’s ever seen has at least one <em> don’t tell them anything about the future </em> sub-plot, and it seems fairly sensible. Especially when it comes to Liam, Noel thinks, young or not; the kid’s always been hot-headed, never able to keep shit to himself, and if he <em> does </em> manage to get Young Liam back to wherever he came from, he doesn’t want him fucking something up and altering the course of the future. </p><p>Young Liam, though, sees the hesitation, and rolls his eyes. </p><p>“C’mon, Noel, ‘s not going to start fucking World War Three if you tell me, is it?” he says, a little annoyed, like Noel trying to be careful about Young Liam’s welfare is an irritation to him. It probably is; always was for Liam. </p><p>“D’you know that, then?” Noel fires back, and Young Liam glares at him, all the heat and passion of youth in his bright blue eyes. Or maybe it’s just Liam; as far as Noel knows, he’s never quite lost that blazing edge. </p><p>“So, what, you’re just going to keep me locked up in your fucking office and not tell me anything?” Young Liam demands. “Like a fucking- a fucking- a dog, or summat?” </p><p>“A dog?” Noel raises an eyebrow. </p><p>“<em> Worse </em> than a dog, right, ‘cause you’d give your dog food and water, innit? Let ‘em run around outside, and that. You’d get fucking done by the RSPCA for locking a dog up in your office.” Young Liam’s really warming to his argument now, the familiar instinct to rile Noel up surfacing from his bones. </p><p>“Good thing the RSPCA don’t deal with annoying twats, then,” Noel retorts, earning himself a glower from Young Liam. “And who said I’m not feeding you? Got you dinner last night, didn’t I?” </p><p>“Prison food,” Young Liam says stroppily, and Noel can’t help but laugh incredulously. </p><p>“Prison food?” he echoes. “<em> Prison food? </em> You tell me one prison where I can get a twenty quid burger and chips and I’ll be straight fucking in.” Young Liam’s eyes narrow. </p><p>"Fuck off," he says. "What's your big plan, then?" There’s a dangerous edge to his voice, one that Noel knows all too well that says <em> ‘cause if I don’t like it I’m fucking off. </em>God, it’s too fucking early for this, Noel thinks, as he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He should’ve just stayed in bed with his wife. </p><p>“I don’t know, Liam,” he says tiredly. “Look, let’s just- let’s just figure it out today, yeah? We can talk about it when we’ve eaten, and we’re a bit more awake.” Young Liam throws him a look. </p><p>“You’re the one who woke me up,” he points out. </p><p>“Go back to bed, then,” Noel says, but doesn’t make any move to get up, and Young Liam makes no move to lie back down either. It’s fucking stupid, makes Noel feel simultaneously twenty years younger and twenty years older than he actually is, because he’s too fucking <em>old</em> for this shit, can’t be fighting either Liam tooth and nail on every tiny fucking thing anymore. </p><p>(He’s still not old enough to say it out loud to any Liam, though.)</p><p>“What d’you want for breakfast?” he says instead, and Young Liam looks at him for a second, like he’s trying to figure out what he’s done to earn himself this truce, and then shrugs. </p><p>“Big fucking bacon roll,” he says, “six sausages, three hash browns and two eggs.” Noel rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Toast or cereal?” he says, and Young Liam pouts. </p><p>“Why the fuck’d you ask if there’s only two options?” he says. Noel just throws him the most withering gaze he can muster, and then Young Liam sighs loudly and says: “Toast, then. And make sure you-”</p><p>“Fucking drown it in butter, yeah, yeah,” Noel says, already halfway to his feet. He’s expecting a quick retort from Young Liam, a sharp word from his clever tongue, but nothing comes, and it makes him frown and look over at him. Young Liam’s just staring at him, something between sadness and hope in his eyes. </p><p>“What?” Noel asks, and Young Liam blinks. </p><p>“You still remember that,” he says. Noel frowns. ‘Course he remembers; fucking had to deal with a six-year-old Liam stamping his feet and crying because there’d only been two inches of butter slathered on his toast, not seven, enough times. Young Liam seems to sense Noel’s confusion, because he adds: “Y’know. Even after-” he cuts himself off, and Noel’s stomach folds in on itself.<em> Even after eleven years </em>, Young Liam can’t say, because if he says it then it becomes real, and he still can’t accept that Noel and Liam haven’t spoken for what’s half of this Liam’s lifetime. And he’s right, really - maybe Noel shouldn’t still remember just how much butter Liam likes on his toast when he hasn’t seen him eating any in over a decade. </p><p>“Had to deal with you whining about it in hotels enough,” Noel says shortly, and then turns on his heel and heads for the door before Young Liam can say anything else. </p><p>“Can I have a tea?” Young Liam calls after him hopefully, and Noel stops, hand already on the door handle. </p><p>“How d’you want it?” he asks, even though he already knows. Yorkshire tea, brewed for two minutes, dash of milk and about a quarter of a teaspoon of sugar. </p><p>“Yorkshire,” Young Liam says. “Two minutes, dash of milk and a quarter of a teaspoon of sugar.” Right. Noel nods curtly, opens the door and looks outside furtively, and just as he steps out, ready to shut the door behind him he hears: </p><p>“You already knew that, didn't you?” </p><p>Noel closes the door.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Young Liam eats his breakfast in relative silence, and Noel just sits and watches as he demolishes his hugely-overbuttered toast (that’s been burnt to a fucking crisp one one side and is basically still bread on the other, just how Liam’s always liked it) and slurps on his tea, checking after every exaggerated gulp to see whether Noel’s paying attention. Noel doesn’t give in to his desire to grimace for that exact reason, just examines his fingernails idly, rearranges things on his desk that don’t need rearranging. Young Liam seems to be hungry, though, because he’s got through the four slices of toast Noel’s made him and the tea in about five minutes flat, and then he sighs contentedly, and holds the plate out for Noel to take. Noel eyes it distastefully, wanting to say <em> and who the fuck am I, then, your fucking slave? </em> but knowing, logically, that it’s on him to clear up, because he can’t risk Sara wandering into the kitchen and being confronted with a twenty-two year old Liam up to his elbows in dirty water and washing-up liquid. So, letting out his own, far-less-contented sigh, he snatches the plate out of Young Liam’s hands and stands up again, heading for the door. It’s only quarter to seven, so nobody else will be awake yet, but Noel’s got to chivvy Sonny and Donovan out of bed, herd them into the bathroom to brush their teeth, and then get their toast and cereal respectively ready while he shouts at them to make sure they’ve packed their homework, do they need their contact books signed, for the last fucking time Donovan, <em> stop </em> leaving your shoes out in the garden overnight, you’ve got trainers for playing out there for a reason, you’ll have to give them a polish before you go. </p><p>“Are you coming back?” Young Liam asks. </p><p>“After I’ve dropped the kids off at school,” Noel says, reaching for the door handle. He doesn’t need to see Young Liam’s face to know that he’s pouting, petulance etched on his features. </p><p>“And what am I s’posed to do ‘til then?” Young Liam demands, and sure enough, there’s an edge of stroppiness to his voice. </p><p>“Not my problem,” Noel says. “Just don’t make any fucking noise.” </p><p>“Or what?” Young Liam doesn’t mean it, Noel can hear it in the sulk edging his words, is just being difficult for the sake of being difficult, but Noel swivels around all the same, levels Young Liam with a gaze. </p><p>"Or I'll fucking bash your head in with a cricket bat again," he says, and Young Liam frowns. </p><p>"You've never done that," he says, and Noel's stomach drops. Shit. </p><p>"Yeah, well," he says, tone hard. "I'll fucking do it now." </p><p>"Hang on a minute," Young Liam says indignantly, when Noel turns back to the door. </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"What d'you mean, <em>again?</em>" Fucking hell. </p><p>"Just- just fucking go back to sleep, or something," Noel says, and pulls down on the door handle. </p><p>"You're going to bash my head in with a cricket bat?" Young Liam sounds like he's trying to understand.</p><p>"I am if you don't fucking keep quiet." There's a pause. </p><p>"You're a prick." </p><p>"And you're a cunt," Noel says, wrenching the door open and glancing out at the corridor to make sure it's safe. "I'll see you in a few hours." He closes the door behind him before Young Liam has the chance to say anything else, locks it quickly, and then leans his head against the wall, taking first one, then two, then three deep breaths. </p><p>Jesus Christ, he thinks, as he stares up at the ceiling. No wonder he and Liam haven't spoken in eleven years; half a day with Young Liam is already enough to send him over the fucking edge, to bring out all those worst parts of him that he hasn't touched in so long. </p><p>(But, he thinks, as he trudges back up the stairs to shower and get dressed, some of his rusty old good parts, ones that only Liam ever knew how to find, are being polished too.)</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The kids are surprisingly well-behaved that morning, and Noel manages to get Sonny dropped off ten whole minutes before registration, which is good because his form tutor had apparently wanted to speak to Noel anyway - something about a phone call and an attendance slip for a school trip - and even Donovan’s at his bus stop three minutes before the bus arrives. Noel heads straight for the kitchen when he gets back, because he’d sacrificed his breakfast for Sonny’s, since the little twat had suddenly decided he wanted toast, not the Coco Pops Noel had prepared for him, and Noel’ll be <em> damned </em> if he’s going to eat that shit, and Sara smiles at him from where she’s sat reading at the table when he walks in and heads straight for the bread bin. </p><p>“Were they alright?” she asks, and he sighs, and nods, grabbing two slices of bread and shoving them inelegantly in the toaster. </p><p>“Miss Evans wanted to talk about some consent form for a school trip,” he says, fetching a plate out of the cupboard and a knife out of the cutlery drawer. Sara hums. </p><p>“The one to the National Gallery?” </p><p>“I don’t fucking know, wasn’t paying attention,” Noel says, turning to face Sara and leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for the toaster to pop. “She wanted to call to talk about it, so I said she could ring later.” Sara frowns. </p><p>“I’m not in today,” she says, and Noel shrugs. </p><p>“I can be,” he says, like he wasn’t bound to being in anyway, because of Young Liam. The thought of Young Liam makes a pang of guilt shoot through him - fuck, this is his fucking <em> wife, </em> the mother of his <em> kids, </em> and he’s keeping a twenty-two year old version of his little brother cooped up in the house without her knowledge - but the toaster shocks him out of it, reminds him that <em> what the fuck are you going to say to her, then, eh? Give it a bit of time, at least, see if you can sort it out yourself. No need to worry her unnecessarily.  </em></p><p>“Thanks, love,” she says, and throws him a smile. Noel smiles back, and then turns to his toast, trying not to think about the way his heart is leaping around in his chest, powered by guilt. “Anais is out already, by the way.” </p><p>“Really?” Noel says, only mildly interested, thinking <em>good, that means I've got the house to myself, then. Well, and Young Liam.</em> “Where’s she gone?” </p><p>“I don’t know, she was really cagey about it,” Sara says. “I think she’s seeing a boy.” Noel groans. </p><p>“Don’t,” he says. “I don’t want to know.” Sara laughs, and there’s the sound of the newspaper she’s been reading rustling as she stands up. </p><p>“She’s twenty, love,” she says, skirting around the counter and pressing a quick kiss to Noel’s cheek as she passes. “You’ve got to get used to it.” </p><p>“I don’t care what she does,” Noel says, tossing his used butter-knife into the sink. “I just don’t want to hear about it.” Sara rolls her eyes, but it’s fond. </p><p>“She’ll probably be out all day, then,” she says, laying the newspaper down on the counter and rinsing out her glass of water. “And I’ll pick Sonny up.” </p><p>“Cheers,” Noel says. “I think- I, uh. I’ll probably be in my office all day.” It’s not a lie, technically, but he can feel the omission of truth that he’s having to consciously stop from falling off his tongue, guilt churning heavier in his stomach when Sara just nods, clearly thinking nothing of it. </p><p>“I’ll see you later, then,” she says, and picks up her newspaper again, presses another swift kiss to Noel’s cheek, and heading out of the room. </p><p>Noel takes his time eating his breakfast, chewing every bite slower than he thinks he ever has before, wanting to draw out the inevitable, but eventually the toast is half-cold and he has to wolf the rest of it down before it gets unbearable, and puts his glass and plate in the dishwasher, rinses off the butter knife, clears out the drying rack, and then, with nothing else left to do, sighs and turns to the door. </p><p>It’s not far from the kitchen to Noel’s office, and he doesn’t hear a peep on his way, nothing but his own breathing and the creaking of his footsteps on the stairs, and his heart speeds up as he thinks <em> is he gone? Has he gone back to where he came from? </em> But, as he unlocks and clicks open the door, there’s still an unmistakable silhouette curled up on the sofa, fast asleep again. </p><p>It’s lighter now, more early-morning sun streaming through the slightly-shitty curtains Noel hadn’t wanted to over-invest in, and it’s lighting Young Liam up, bathing him in a soft glow. He looks serene, Noel thinks, as he closes the door as quietly as he can and edges into the room, not taking his eyes off Young Liam as he heads for his chair. Young Liam’s eyelashes are longer than Noel remembers them being, fluttering a little as his eyes move as he dreams, and his skin is smooth, soft, supple. Noel’s almost itching to reach out and touch it, to see whether the five-o’clock-shadow is as scratchy under his fingertips as it looks, but he stops himself, fingers twitching, contenting himself with a good, long stare. Were Liam’s lips that big, that pouty, that fucking pink when he was younger? Noel’s not sure anymore, just knows he never wanted to be out of them - tongue, fingers, cock, whatever the fuck he could get Liam to suck on. </p><p>As though he knows he’s being watched, Young Liam stirs, mumbles something under his breath, stretches, and then opens his eyes and blinks at Noel. </p><p>“Hi,” he says, and his voice is low, gravelly, a little hoarse from sleep. Noel clears his throat, even though he doesn’t need to. </p><p>“Hi,” he says. “Get back to sleep, then?” </p><p>“Mm,” Young Liam yawns, and struggles into a seated position. “Fuck all else to do, innit?” Noel throws him an irritated look, which Young Liam just grins at, yawning again and scratching at his chest. </p><p>“I need a shower,” he announces. ‘Course he fucking does. </p><p>“I’ll get you a towel,” Noel says, and stands up again. </p><p>“And some clothes?” Young Liam says, and Noel hesitates. </p><p>“What’s wrong with them ones?” he says, nodding at the pile of Liam’s clothes he’d stacked neatly in the corner. </p><p>“Had ‘em on for days,” Young Liam says, and Noel rolls his eyes. ‘Course he fucking has. </p><p>“You’re not going to fit in my clothes,” he warns, because gone are the days of him wearing clothing at least ten sizes too big for him. Everything’s fitted, now, and he’s pretty sure even this Liam can’t fit into a 28-waist jean. </p><p>“Not got any stuff from the old days?” Young Liam asks, and Noel sighs. Yeah, he does, but it’s in the fucking attic, and he can’t be arsed to go up there. But then again, the alternative is Young Liam cutting about in a too-tight shirt and no trousers, so maybe it’s worth it. </p><p>“I don’t know what I’ve got,” he says, because he doesn’t. He’s fairly certain there are a few coats up there, some things he thought Anais might want to play around with, but he hasn’t opened those boxes since about three houses ago and has no idea whether there are trousers or t-shirts or whatever the fuck else in there. </p><p>“You can always ask Liam,” Young Liam says, and Noel has to stifle a groan. Not fucking Liam. Noel’s got enough on his plate with one of them, let alone two. </p><p>“Not a fucking chance,” he says, and then, before Young Liam can turn on his wheedling voice and pleading eyes, stands up and heads for the door. “I’ll just wash your clothes, if not.” Young Liam doesn’t respond, and Noel allows himself one quick glance over at him as he’s shutting the door behind himself; he’s sat on the sofa, looking somewhere between surly and upset, and it makes Noel’s heart twist a little, makes him hesitate with only a fraction of an inch left until the door hits the jamb. He can’t even imagine what it must be like for this Liam, ripped out of wherever the fuck he’s come from and having to contend with a world in which everything he knows no longer applies, in which everything that makes sense to him, his certainties of life - Liam needs Noel and Noel needs Liam - has been turned on its head. Noel’s not certain how well he would have handled it if the same thing had happened to him at that age. Maybe Liam <em> can </em> help, somehow; it is him sat here in Noel’s office, after all. Liam’s not changed with age, only mellowed in about thirty percent of his personality, so he might get it, might be able to say the right things to Young Liam. </p><p>Then again, Noel thinks, with a sharp jolt, he’d lied to Noel about losing his virginity to him, and been more than fucking happy to keep that lie up for almost thirty fucking years. </p><p>Noel closes the door a little more abruptly than he’d intended to, and heads for the attic. </p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Noel <em> does </em> have trousers, and they look like they might fit, but they’re dusty and smell a little suspicious compared to the coats that have been hanging up in a cupboard. He brings them down anyway, figuring Young Liam can make do with one strange-smelling pair until the rest of them are out of the wash, almost forgets the towel and has to double back for that, picking the biggest, fluffiest one he can find because Liam’s always been a fucking princess, and then makes his way back to the office, pile of clothes and towel wobbling precariously as he goes. </p><p>“Fucking hell,” Young Liam says, when Noel gets back into the room, sounding a little impressed. “How many fucking people are you dressing, eh?” </p><p>“Get to fuck,” Noel tells him, and dumps the clothes and towel on the sofa unceremoniously. “I’m sticking all these in the wash for you.” He gestures for the pile of Young Liam’s clothes. “Give them us.” Young Liam looks at them, then looks back at Noel, and then sighs and picks them up, like it’s a huge fucking ordeal to lean over the edge of the sofa so his brother, who’s doing his fucking washing for him, won’t have to walk all the way over. </p><p>“How’re you going to explain that to your wife?” Young Liam says pointedly, looking at the clothes and then at Noel, and Noel has to grit his teeth. Jesus Christ; this Liam doesn’t even <em> know </em> Sara, and is still a fucking cunt about her. </p><p>“She’s out for the day,” Noel says shortly, and tosses the towel he’d picked up at Young Liam. “Go on, get in the bathroom.” </p><p>“Aren’t you going to escort me?” Young Liam says cheekily, and Noel scowls at him. </p><p>“Get fucking going before I change my mind,” he says, and Young Liam raises his eyebrows, grinning, but gets to his feet and picks his toothbrush off the table. </p><p>“Not much of a prison warden, you,” he says, off-hand, and Noel rolls his eyes, gathering all the clothes that need washing into his arms and following in Young Liam’s wake. </p><p>“Piss off,” he says, and Young Liam just laughs, stepping out of the door without so much as glancing to check whether the coast is clear, Jesus fucking Christ. </p><p>“Watch it,” Noel hisses, jumping out of the door behind him and glancing up and down the corridor furtively, even though he knows the house is empty. For now, at least; who’s to say Anais won’t come back early, or whatever Sara’s gone off to won’t finish sooner than she expected? </p><p>“What?” Young Liam says, not even bothering to whisper. “Your <em> wife’s </em> not home, is she? And your- y’know. They’re at school.” His face twists as he says it, like he still can’t bear the fucking thought of Noel with a wife and kids. </p><p>“My daughter isn’t,” Noel says, a little snappily. </p><p>“Oh, right, you’ve got a daughter, too?” Young Liam says, hand on the bathroom doorknob, something bitter in his voice. </p><p>“Fucking hell, just get in the fucking bathroom,” Noel says, not in the mood to argue about his fucking marital status, and pushes harshly at the small of Young Liam’s back. Young Liam scowls, calls Noel a cunt, but grudgingly steps into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him like the fucking child that he is. Jesus Christ, Noel thinks, as he heads for the laundry room at the other end of the corridor, shoving the assortment of clothes in inelegantly and tossing in a pod. Has Liam always been this spoilt? </p><p>He sets the washing machine for a one hour wash-and-dry cycle, figuring that’s probably easier than sorting them all out into cottons and synthetics and darks and lights, and then heads back to the bathroom, cocking his ear to make sure the shower is, in fact, running. It is, and Noel’s about to turn away and head back to the office when a little voice in his head says <em> hang on a minute. What if Anais or Sara </em> do <em> come back early? How are you going to explain that? You’ll have to go in there with him, make sure you can check the coast is clear when he needs to go back to the office again.  </em></p><p>“Liam,” Noel calls, and knocks on the door. </p><p>“What?” he hears, over the sound of running water. </p><p>“Let me in.” There’s a pause. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Because-” fucking hell, Noel shouldn’t have to justify himself here. “Just open the fucking door.” There’s another pause, and Noel strains to hear over the sound of the shower, but then there’s a clicking sound and the door unlocks to reveal Young Liam’s frowning face, toothbrush in his mouth. </p><p>“What d’you want?” he says, all hostile, like it’s his fucking house, not Noel’s. </p><p>“I’ve got to check whether it’s clear when you finish,” Noel says, and shoulders past Young Liam. Young Liam doesn’t use the two inches he has on Noel, for once, just lets himself be pushed aside as Noel barges through the door, clicking and locking it again when Noel’s inside and hovering by the sink. He’s fully fucking naked, which frankly, Noel should have considered before bursting into the bathroom like this, and he frowns when Noel averts his gaze. </p><p>“What?” Young Liam says, staring down at himself as he brushes. “Nowt you haven’t seen before.” Jesus. Was the kid always this fucking forthright? </p><p>“Just- fucking shower, will you?” Noel says, a little wearily, and Young Liam looks at him again, something shrewd in his eyes, before shrugging, spitting, and stepping into the shower. </p><p>“I don’t mind if you look, y’know,” he says. Of course he doesn’t fucking mind; Liam had always preened under Noel’s gaze, played up to it, desperate for any scrap of his attention he could get, positive or negative. </p><p>“Fucking hell, Liam,” Noel mutters, and busies himself with staring at the assortment of toothbrushes on the sink. </p><p>“I mean, I’m going to need a wank, anyway, so.” He says it all casual, like it’s nothing, and Noel swallows. </p><p>“You’ll do fucking nothing of the sort,” he says, chancing a gaze over at Young Liam in the shower, seeing him lathering his hair behind the steamed-up glass. “Just wash your fucking hair and be done with it.” </p><p>“Stand outside if it bothers you so much,” Young Liam fires back, and Noel watches as the silhouette of Young Liam’s right arm moves from ruffling through his hair down his body, obscured by the steamed-up glass as it gets below his torso. </p><p>“You’re not fucking wanking in my shower,” Noel says, trying to convince himself more than anything. </p><p>“Aren’t I?” Noel can hear the grin in Young Liam’s voice. “Would you rather suck me off?”</p><p>“<em>Jesus, </em>Liam, you-” Noel starts, but then Young Liam gasps, a soft, quiet, <em>real</em> little gasp, one that Noel had elicited from him thousands of times, and the sound goes straight to Noel’s dick. Fucking hell, he thinks, trying to quell the panic rising in his chest and let it sizzle into anger. This is fucking <em>wrong, </em>so fucking wrong, wrong because they're brothers and wrong because Noel's married and wrong because it's Young Liam, not Liam.</p><p>“Fucking stop,” he says, with as much anger and vitriol as he can muster, but Young Liam doesn’t care, never fucking has. </p><p>“Won’t take long,” he says, a little breathlessly, and Noel tries not to think about what he must look like, tries not to remember the exact flush that always rose on Liam’s chest, the way he’d bite his bottom lip, the way his chest would rise and fall and rise and fall. </p><p>“I’m your fucking <em> brother, </em> Liam-” Noel starts, which is the wrong thing to say because Liam’s always got off on that, always loved the fact that they were doing something they shouldn’t’ve been, that <em> he </em> could get Noel to break his composure and make him do something <em> that </em> wrong, and this Liam is no different, fucking moans lowly at the thought. “ <em> Christ, </em> Liam, would it fucking kill you to have a shred of decency?” </p><p>“Noel,” Young Liam says, and it’s that needy, desperate, <em> please please please </em> voice that he gets when he’s close, so fucking close. Noel knows what he needs, knows what he wants - Noel to keep talking - and he hesitates for a moment, opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, before gritting his teeth and thinking <em> better to just fucking get it over with rather than drawing it out, and it’s not like I’ll actually be </em> doing <em> anything, right, just saying a few words, </em> and opening it again. </p><p>“C’mon, then,” Noel says softly, not sure whether Liam can even hear him over the sound of the running water. “Be a good boy and come for me, yeah?” Noel doesn’t get any further than that, and he doesn’t know whether it’s because he cuts himself off or whether it’s because of Liam’s quiet, rapid panting, the way it culminates in a pretty little moan, one that sounds like a soft <em> Noel, fuck, Noel, </em> even over the sound of the running water. </p><p>There’s a moment of silence, and then Young Liam starts whistling casually, and Noel has to grit his teeth, heart pounding in his ears. He hasn’t <em> done </em> anything, really, just said a few fucking words, but somehow shame is burning hot in his veins, mingling with embarrassment to create a good storm of anger that bubbles up inside him. </p><p>“You’re fucking twisted,” Noel spits, like unloading it on Young Liam is going to make the guilt blaze all the way out of his lungs and worm its way into Young Liam’s instead. </p><p>“Told you to go wait outside,” Young Liam says, and his breathing is still laboured, and Noel barely even has to try to imagine the way his cheeks must be flushed, lips redder than before. “Your choice to stay.” Noel clenches his jaw, trying to let the thoughts that are soothing him, rationalising the situation - <em> you couldn’t’ve waited outside, who knows what he would have got up to in here, you need to keep an eye on the kid </em> - drown out the ones that are telling him <em> what about everything you’ve built up in the last ten, twenty years? What have you just done? </em></p><p>“Just fucking dry yourself off and get back to the office,” Noel says, still through gritted teeth, and Young Liam peeks his head around the edge of the shower, hair curling where it sticks to his face, and grins. </p><p>“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he says, lazy, happy, that post-orgasm glow lighting him up from head to toe, and it should be fucking disgusting, should make Noel want to throw up, shouldn’t make his toes curl and his dick strain harder against the zipper of his jeans. He shifts, pulls his shirt down as surreptitiously as he can, but Young Liam’s too quick for him, catches the movement and laughs as he reaches for his towel and wraps it around himself. </p><p>“Dirty old man,” he says, eyes twinkling, and it makes Noel’s stomach flip. Maybe he is; maybe he shouldn’t think this twenty-two-year-old Liam is as fucking attractive as he does, even if he’d been his at the time. </p><p>“Cunt,” he says, with as much venom as he can muster, but it just joins the droplets of water sliding down Young Liam’s back as he grins and shakes out his hair.</p><p>“Knew you still wanted me,” Young Liam says happily, and grabs his toothbrush off the sink, heading for the door. Noel gets there before him, yanks the door open a few inches and sticks his head out to make sure they’re still alone, and then ushers Young Liam out of the room, pushing him roughly towards the office. </p><p>“You don’t know fucking anything,” Noel tells him irately, slamming the door shut behind them as Young Liam ambles back to the set of clothes Noel had left for him on the sofa. </p><p>“Don’t I?” Young Liam hums, almost off-hand, holding the jumper Noel had picked out up to his chest and frowning at it. “You only bought this last week.” Fucking hell. It’s weird to think about another Noel, another him that’s out there somewhere, fucking his brother and writing fucking Wonderwall. Jesus, it makes Noel’s head hurt, makes him slump into his chair and rub at his temples, stinging from the anger and embarrassment that are still trying their best to make a home in his veins. He wonders what the other Noel is thinking, whether he’s fucking glad to be rid of Young Liam, throwing a fucking party, or whether he’s frantic, searching high and low. And he wonders what the other Noel’s told their mam, winces at the mere thought of the bollocking he’d get for losing Liam. </p><p>“Bought it twenty-five fucking years ago,” Noel says shortly, and Young Liam frowns at the jumper for a moment longer before pulling it over his head, smoothing it out and looking down at himself. It fits, and it looks fucking good, and Noel’s head is swimming with so many thoughts that he doesn’t know what to focus on other than <em> stop it, stop it, stop it, </em>when his eyes want to stare at Young Liam as he shimmies out of the towel and into the trousers. Noel manages to avert his gaze, to stare over at the wall instead of Young Liam as he tries to make a show of it, tries to pull Noel’s attention back to himself. </p><p>“These are a bit fucking tight,” Young Liam remarks, and Noel laughs, harsh and bitter.</p><p>“Lay off all the fucking butter on your toast, then,” he retorts, and Young Liam just shoves two fingers up at him as he finishes buttoning up the trousers, and then throws himself back onto the sofa with a loud, contented sigh. </p><p>Fucking hell, Noel thinks, another spike of anger rushing through him, making his vision blur with how fast it hits. Liam’s never been able to take fucking anything seriously. </p><p>“So,” Young Liam says, and his eyes are still soft around the edges, and Noel has to bite down on his tongue to try and distract himself that it’s the post-orgasm glow he’s seeing, that rush of endorphins and dopamine that came because of Noel. “What’re we going to do, then?” </p><p>It’s a good fucking question. </p><p>“I think-” Noel starts, even though he has no fucking idea what he thinks, just because he can’t be the one to have no ideas, but he’s interrupted by a shrill buzzing sound. </p><p>The doorbell. </p><p>“Stay here,” he tells Young Liam, who rolls his eyes and mutters <em> yeah, like I could fucking go anywhere, anyway, </em> and heads out to the corridor to pick up the phone of the intercom. </p><p>“Yeah?” he says. He can’t hear anything but static, so he tries again. If the fucking delivery driver’s left his parcel and legged it again, he swears to God- “Hello?” </p><p>“Eeyar, let us in, would you?” </p><p>It’s Liam.</p>
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